


Find Your Way Back

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Azkaban, Break Up, Community: otterandferret, Coworkers - Freeform, Danger, Death Eaters, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fear, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Ghosts, HP: EWE, Love, Love Confessions, Minor Character Death, Muggles, Mystery, Original Character(s), PostWar, Regret, Reunions, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:30:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 76,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy, employed at the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Magical Creatures, is assigned to a case that could end the rules and restrictions he's been required to follow in the fifteen years after the war. All he has to do is deal with one potential ghost. When Hermione Granger gets involved in the case as well, they both discover several other ghosts from their past. Dealing with all of their ghosts, together, will put everything in their futures at risk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 17 March 2013

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silverotter1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverotter1/gifts).



Hermione finished the puzzle and the jumble in the _Daily Prophet_ and turned the page over. She smeared apricot marmalade on her toast with the back of a spoon as she skimmed the articles without reading any of them in depth. She licked the excess marmalade off the spoon, then dunked it into her cup to stir sugar and cream into her orange pekoe tea. It wasn't much of a breakfast, she knew, and in the back of her mind she could hear Molly Weasley shouting and demanding that she eat more to keep her strength up. Alone in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, she stuck out her tongue in childish refusal before jamming the corner of one toast slice into her mouth. 

She focused on the paper, ignoring the gossip columns and sale adverts, skipping over the gardening and herbology sections, and passing straight by the wedding announcements and Quidditch scores. The last page of the paper had an article that caught her eye, even though it was below the fold and squashed between a notice about auditions for a Wizarding Wireless Network radio play on sea life, with special auditions for witches and wizards who could speak Mermish, and a blurry photo of a young, grinning wizard holding a litter of squirming Crup puppies. Hermione dusted the toast crumbs from her fingers and leaned back in her chair, pressing her knees against the edge of the table and kicking her feet beneath it. She sipped her cooling tea and scanned the aerial photo of a village, then read the article closely.

It was written in a tone of slight amusement and was light on details, as if the writer had been too busy giggling to take any serious notes. Titled 'Muggles Mystified', it described a small village in the Cotswolds, Faith-In-Hart, where a ghostly figure had been appearing for several months, bewildering the residents. It was only too clear to her that the article had been written by one of those wizards who thought that Muggles were a little on the dim and immature side for not recognizing magic when they saw it, as the writer described in a far too jocular manner how the Muggles of Faith-In-Hart were attempting to explain the phenomenon as the result of unusual weather patterns or cloud formations drifting low over the village. Only a few of the village's four hundred residents were taking the appearance as a true ghost, and those few were being soundly ignored by the remainder of the villagers, including the council. The author ended the article with a quip about Muggles and their foolish ways.

Hermione made a face as she tossed the paper on the table. She chewed on her toast, rubbing a bit of marmalade against the roof of her mouth with her tongue as she considered, just for a moment, writing a letter of complaint to the Prophet about the journalist's lack of respect for his subject. She decided against it, knowing that it would do very little good in the long run. Despite the greater interaction between the wizarding world and the Muggle world since the end of the war, many wizards and witches, especially those who were raised fully in a magical society, treated Muggles, and Muggle-borns by extension, as little more than people to be pitied. 

She'd tried, over the years, tried and tried again, but every time she heard another wizard, plump and smug in his outlandish robes, make another comment about those 'poor Muggles' that made it clear he thought every Muggle was just a step or two higher than a house-elf, it twisted something deep inside her. Six months previously, at the end of September, she'd reached a breaking point, shouting and hexing, her hair as wild as it had ever been in her teen years and her eyes bright as lightning. At least, that was how one of the witnesses had described it in the report given to the Ministry psychologist. She'd gone on sabbatical the day after, a sabbatical that had been 'strongly, most strongly encouraged' by her supervisor in the Department of Magical Creatures.

Her enforced downtime was due to end that week, and she could report back to work on Monday. Hermione drew the paper close to her again and picked up her swan-feather quill to circle the article about Faith-In-Hart. She could investigate this ghostly figure, determine whether it was a true ghost or simply a quirk in the weather. It would ease her back into the bustle of the Ministry, give her something to do, and allow her to do something good for a handful of Muggles. She smiled to herself and tapped her wand on the edge of her tea cup to warm it up again. 

"I never like that smile," a voice said from the other end of the room. Hermione looked up to see Harry shuffling into the kitchen, his black hair even messier than usual with sleep and his loose, ragged Quidditch jersey as wrinkled as his nose when he yawned. "That's your planning smile. Am I going to come home from work tonight and find a hundred books scattered around the house? I couldn't find my Cannons tickets for days."

"I'm not planning," she said, shaking her head. "Well, not very much. I found a case I can take on when I go back to the Ministry on Monday. Something to do, get my brain back into shape." She gestured with her cup, careful not to slosh tea over the rim and onto her toast. "You know, something that won't have people checking in on me every fifteen minutes to see if I'm going to explode again."

Harry plopped into his seat on the long side of the table and lifted his wand to start a kettle of water boiling. He cracked open a bottle of orange juice and took a long drink, swirling it around in his mouth as he looked at her. "Are you?" he asked after he took another drink. "Going to explode again? That wasn't like you, Hermione. You're usually the one who's laying out a calm, rational set of facts to convince everyone of your side of an argument. Hexes and all that, it isn't your style."

Hermione dropped her eyes and stared at the twining blue pattern of ivy on her plate. "I had other things on my mind. It was the last straw."

Harry was quiet for a minute, then he cleared his throat. "Did it have anything to do with--"

"Don't." Hermione lifted her head and stared at the wall near the fireplace, her arms crossed tight over her chest and her hands twisted in the sides of her cardigan. "Don't, Harry. I don't want to talk about it."

"You haven't talked about it for months."

"And I'm not going to." Hermione ground her teeth, her throat tense and closing. "I'm not going to talk about it. That's my last word on it. I'm going to focus on taking this case, getting back to work, and moving on. That's all."

The only sounds for a few minutes were the pop and hiss of logs in the fireplace and the slow whistle of the kettle of water as it came to a boil. Harry coughed, pushed his chair back, and went to the kettle to fix his tea. He brought the kettle back to the table to stir into a bowl of oats. "What case?" he said, finally, as if they'd mentioned nothing else since he came into the kitchen.

Hermione relaxed at Harry's silent agreement to drop the previous topic. "This," she said, pushing the paper across the table and tapping the feathers of her quill on the circled article. "I thought I would investigate this."

Harry looked at the paper. Hermione expected a smile, a nod, or an agreement that it was a good idea and something she should pursue, but Harry turned the paper over and shook his head. To her surprise, he said, "I don't think that's something you should get involved with. Nothing really for you in it. Besides, it's not your division. Ghosts don't fall under your duties."

Hermione stared at him, her tea cup poised halfway between the table and her mouth. "I work in any of the three divisions. Creature, Being, or Spirit, wherever they need help. You know that very well, Harry. And what do you mean, there's nothing for me in it? It's _perfect_ for me." She put down her cup and held up her hand to tick away her points on her fingers. "First, it's potentially a true ghost, which puts it under the Spirit Division of the Department of Magical Creatures, which means it does indeed fall under the duties of my employment with that department. Second, it's in a Muggle village, which means that anyone sent to investigate should be someone who has a familiarity - no, make that a _sympathy_ for Muggles, and as a Muggle-born, I'm definitely in that category, probably more than most. And third--"

"Stop, stop." Harry held up both hands in surrender. Hermione pressed her lips together. She didn't look away from him as he took off his glasses to clean them on the hem of his jersey. He sighed and shoved them into place on his nose, ruffling his fringe out from behind the lenses. "It's too early to have you go on like that. All those points. I'll accept that you have good reasons for why you should be assigned to the case, but I'm telling you, it's nothing you should bother with."

Hermione slapped her hand on the table. The cups and flatware rattled; Harry jumped. "Why not?" Hermione demanded. "It's a simple case, it falls under my duties, and it's something I want to do. I'm ready to go back to work. More than ready. I was ready months ago, but I wasn't allowed to go back just yet. Now I'm about to climb the walls! There's only so many times I can go to the library or go for a run. I'm bored, Harry, and I want to do this!"

Harry slurped his tea, avoiding her eyes. Before she could slap the table again, he looked at her. The serious expression on his face made her hesitate. "What? What is it?" She bit her lip, eying him with some wariness. "What aren't you telling me?"

"The case has already been assigned," he said. He twisted his spoon between his fingers. "It's been assigned and someone's already investigating the ghost, so you don't need to bother with it. When you go back to work on Monday, find something else, Hermione."

She knotted her brows. "You couldn't know that it's already been assigned. You're MLE. Aurors. That has nothing to do with Magical Creatures, and don't tell me that you'd know because you're head of the department. The Ministry's bureaucracy doesn't share information that easily and you skip every inter-department meeting you can."

Harry grimaced. "I know because.... Well. Er. Because the person who's investigating the case _is_ someone who's the responsibility of my department. He doesn't work for me exactly, but he does have to report to me, so in a way...."

As Harry drifted into silence, a slender thread of an idea wriggled into Hermione's head. Harry's attempts to get her to back off and his reluctance to name the person involved in the case? That would be suspicious enough on its own, but when added to the tense and anxious look in his green eyes, she could only come to one conclusion.

She needed to hear him confirm it. Out loud. Hermione wrapped her fingers around the handle of her spoon and slowly lifted it. Pointing the bowl at Harry as if it were the tip of her wand, she narrowed her eyes. "Say it. Say it right now. Who's already investigating this case, Harry James Potter?"

He slumped in his chair, closed his eyes, and sighed. "Draco Malfoy."

* * *

Hermione tightened the laces of her running shoes and hopped down the steps of Grimmauld Place. She focused on the route she had in mind for her run instead of on the conversation she'd had with Harry. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy had been assigned to a case that should have been hers by right. Hermione deliberately ignored that she'd only found about the ghost in Faith-In-Hart that morning, and even more deliberately ignored that she hadn't been at work for months and wouldn't have been assigned in any case. As far as she was concerned, as far as she wanted to let herself think, that case was hers. She should be investigating it.

Not Draco sodding Malfoy.

Of all the people who were ludicrously inappropriate for an assignment involving Muggles, Draco Malfoy was the most ludicrous choice possible. It was as ridiculous an idea as she'd ever heard. It was worse than when Hagrid had decided to bring his half-brother Grawp back from the giants. It was worse than when she'd taken Cormac McLaggen to Slughorn's Christmas party. It was worse than when she'd attempted to help the house-elves at Hogwarts with her poorly knitted hats. It was, without doubt, the worst idea she'd ever heard.

Harry had refused to tell her anything further about the case, no matter how hard she'd pressed. He'd finally told her, with the firm look of determination she remembered from the war, that she was to drop the subject. Malfoy had the case and that was that. No more argument.

Hermione sniffed. "That's what he thinks," she muttered to herself, startling a young woman waiting at the corner for the traffic to clear. The woman edged closer to the street and watched Hermione from the corner of her eye. Hermione grimaced and shrugged, giving an apologetic wave before jogging down the street to the next crossing. Now she was letting him distract her enough to talk to herself in public. She pretended she didn't know, deep inside herself, which 'him' she'd meant.

She headed into the park and turned up her favorite running path. Normally the sound of the wind in the leaves of the centuries-old oaks and walnuts that lined the sides of the path would be enough to calm her thoughts and leave her mind a blank, focused on nothing but the pound of her feet against the path and the pound of her heart in her chest, but today, she couldn't focus on that. Every step said Malfoy, Malfoy, and every breath said Draco, Draco.

Growling, Hermione stopped by one of the larger trees and slumped down onto a knee-high root that had been worn smooth by years and years of passing Londoners using it for a seat. She put her elbows on her knees and leaned over, staring at the ground between her feet and trying to focus her thoughts. She had to get any thought of him out of her mind.

Hermione concentrated, trying desperately to think of a way, any way, that would allow her to get through this. Whatever she had to do to get this case, even if she couldn't explain her reasons to herself, she would do. This was something she _needed_ to do. The thought that someone else, that Draco Malfoy, had a case she could do and do well, made something twist inside her. It made her angry. 

She sat up and exhaled sharply. That was it, she thought. Anger. If she let herself be angry - not enough to be reprimanded or suspended again, of course - just angry enough to talk Draco out of the case, she could take it, and then everything would work out the way it should. The best way possible. It would let her find her place at work again and let everything return to normal.

Nodding, Hermione stood to finish her jog. She'd found the way, she was sure of it.


	2. 18 March 2013

The lift stopped and emptied out, witches and wizards scattering through the reception room of the Department of Magical Creatures. They hurried down the corridors, into offices, and to their desks. Draco didn't move. He stared at the narrow gap between the lift and main floor. He took a deep breath and willed his feet to move but they refused to answer him. It was as if the soles of his shoes had become glued in place. _You can do this_ , he told himself silently. _You can do this. One more day, Malfoy. It's only one more day. Just get off the damned lift and go to your desk._

A bell sounded, a warning that the doors were about to close, and his hand snapped forward to jam in the button to hold the doors open. He took another breath and put all his strength into stepping forward. Crossing the threshold into the reception room, moving from the lift to the department proper, was always difficult for him. He hated it here. As soon as the lift doors closed behind him, he wanted to turn around and jerk them open, to leap inside and flee back to the phone box exit and the trip home.

"Mr Malfoy," the receptionist called, pulling him out of his fantasy of running away. "Mr Tuffett is waiting for you."

Draco blinked and nodded. "Fuck. Thanks, Doreen." He smiled at her as he collected his post from the shelf behind her desk, hoping that his face didn't betray any of the anxiety that had bubbled up when she said 'Tuffett'. He headed down the corridor to the tiny closet that served as his office. Outside the door, he fidgeted with the knot of his tie, pulling it away from his neck, telling himself that he was only straightening the knot instead of loosening the noose it felt like it had become.

With another deep breath that left him lightheaded, he stepped into his office. An old wizard, barely bigger than a sneeze, was waiting in the chair in front of the desk, the curled toes of his green velvet boots just barely brushing the floor. "Mr Malfoy," the wizard said in a surprising baritone. Alvin Tuffett was his liaison with the Wizengamot, the person in charge of his case and the terms of his sentencing, under the supervision of a witch he'd never met. Tuffett flourished a thick file, parchment sticking out of it at wild angles. "I've reviewed your application to have your Apparition license reinstated."

"It's about time," Draco said. He dropped into his chair, put the post into a box on the corner of his desk, and plucked a blunt quill from the wire holder next to a stack of case files and reports. He absently twirled the quill, feathers spinning back and forth, as he looked at Tuffett. "I put that application in weeks ago. It's certainly taken you long enough to examine it."

"There were some discrepancies," Tuffett said with a flash of his brows. "And it appears that there still are. The records do not show that you ever took courses in Apparition, whether through official channels or another venue."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Yes," he said. "Courses are not a requirement to get a license. Passing the test is all that you need, and I did that years ago. I was licensed at seventeen."

"And you were unlicensed at nineteen, after the completion of the war hearings and trials." Tuffett didn't appear to notice how Draco stiffened. He drew a thick monocle from an inner pocket of his robes and placed it over one eye. "As a result of your participation in the--"

"You yanked my license because I was a Death Eater," Draco said flatly. He set the quill down before he could snap it. Leaning back in his chair, he gripped the arms of it tight. "I am not currently licensed to Apparate, I am forbidden the use of a Portkey, I may not own or operate a broom, and I must contact your department for permission to access any Floo for any reason, which is usually denied. I know all of this. It was part of my release. I was told I could reapply for my Apparition license after a three year probation. I did so then. I have _re_ -reapplied every year since. And every year I'm denied. You took so much longer this year that I was actually starting to get hopeful."

Tuffett looked at him, one eye narrowed, the other wide and steely behind the monocle. His white brows furrowed so deeply they seemed to form a V on his forehead. "There are reports that you have been seen Apparating without a license, Mr Malfoy, in direct contravention of the terms of your agreement with the Wizengamot."

Draco swore under his breath. He tipped his head over the back of his chair and stared at the dusty tiles of the ceiling. "I have not. I have not Apparated even once since you took my license away. Not once in nearly fifteen years."

Tuffett drew a parchment from the file and held it up. "October of twenty-eleven, from Hogsmeade. November, from Hogsmeade. December, from Hogsmeade, three times. January of twenty-twelve. February, from _Paris_. I could go on, Mr Malfoy." He put the parchment back into the file, folded his hands atop it, and peered at Draco. "And all these Apparition incidents were in the presence of--"

"Another party." Draco gritted his teeth and exhaled sharply through his nose. he sat up and looked directly at Tuffett. "For your information, on each of those dates, and on any others you aren't going to mention, the other party was the one in charge and doing the actual Apparition. I only went Side-Along. I have not, at any time, broken the terms set for me by the Wizengamot. And speaking of that?" He gave a tight smile, drawing the corners of his mouth back without showing his teeth. "I wasn't aware I was being _followed_."

Tuffett returned Draco's smile, even tighter, but with the points of his teeth visible. "Your interactions with this 'other party' were of interest. Highly unusual, Mr Malfoy, especially in light of your personal history, to form a relationship with her. In my opinion, that is."

"For fuck's sake." Draco pushed out of his chair and slammed his hands on his desk, crumpling papers beneath his palms. He leaned over the desk to glare at Tuffett. "My relationship? Is none of your business. It's none of the Wizengamot's business. It was no one's business but mine and hers and if you think it is, you can stick it straight up your arse. She did the Apparating wherever we went and that's all you need to know, so shove that in your files."

Tuffett slapped the file shut and hopped off the chair with a nasty grin wreathing his mouth. "Thank you very much for your co-operation, Mr Malfoy. You'll have your answer shortly."

He scurried out of the office before Draco could do more than snarl. Within a heartbeat, there was a sharp popping sound and he looked down to see his application resting between his splayed hands. A stamp across the top in large, blinking, red letters said 'Denied'.

Draco growled and crumpled the application, dropped it into the bin, and slumped in his chair. "Bastards," he muttered. "Bastards, the lot of you. Should count yourself damned lucky." He drifted off into swearing and grumbling. Any time he needed or wanted something, Tuffet, that little boil of a bureaucrat, seemed to enjoy jerking him around. He thought about checking up to see if there was anything he could use in order to file a complaint against this Tuffett, who apparently had come to deny him in person solely for the pleasure of irritating him, then discarded the idea with a final growl. Anything he did could be identified as noncompliance or retaliation, and it wasn't worth the consequences.

Retaliation was a very tempting idea, though, especially at the confirmation that he was being followed. Despite what he'd told Tuffett, he'd known there was something up. There were too many unexplained coincidences otherwise, like the elderly man, likely Tuffett in a poor disguise, who popped up in the same restaurant and on the same street more than a dozen times in a year. Draco knew someone had been tracking his movements, but was outraged they'd gone so far as to actually follow him, especially outside of Diagon Alley or the magical sections of London. His history during the war was enough reason for them to be sure he was staying out of Knockturn Alley or places with known connections to the defunct Death Eaters or other Dark wizards, but to follow him everywhere? Even to Paris, where he had spent a glorious two weeks?

Draco stalked out of his office, forcing those thoughts out of his head. If he let himself dwell on it, he'd never be able to focus on his assignment, on the case at hand. He couldn't afford to be distracted. Most especially, he couldn't afford to be distracted with thoughts of _her_.

He went to the department's tiny canteen and concentrated on fixing himself a cup of the weak, bland tea that was all he could find in the cupboards. The last biscuits in a dented tin on the counter were topped with a sticky icing in a disgusting shade of pink. Draco snapped one into two crumbling pieces and ate it anyway, half-hoping it would kill him.

"Oh, there you are," he heard, and he turned to see Doreen standing in the doorway. "Mr Malfoy, you're just the most popular wizard in the department today," she bubbled. "All sorts of visitors. It's--"

"No need to announce me."

Draco shoved the other half of the biscuit into his mouth to keep from saying something remarkably rude as MLE's wonder boy, Head Auror Harry Potter, appeared behind Doreen. "Malfoy," Harry said with a short nod. He crooked one finger at Draco. "Come with me. Need to talk."

* * *

Draco stood at the charmed windows of Harry's office and examined the view. Most people in the Ministry who ranked high enough to have windows chose tree-filled parks or interesting buildings or one of the magical sites around the country like Stonehenge, Glastonbury Tor, or, for those with a more mischievous bent, the Cerne Abbas Giant. Harry had a view of the River Thames, with Jubilee Gardens and the London Eye in the background. The charm work was done well enough that onlookers could see the logos and sayings on the shirts of people waiting to ride the huge wheel.

Draco warned his hands on his tea cup as he watched a young family shuffle onto the wheel, the parents hunched over to hold the tiny hands of two toddlers who skipped and bounced into the carriage. He turned away from the window and sipped his tea, then blinked in surprise and took a much longer drink. "Well," he said. "Being Head of the Auror Office certainly has its perks." He held up the cup when Harry gave him a questioning look.

"Oh, yeah," Harry said with a quick smile. "Good, isn't it? Some sort of redbush tea. Think it's from Africa. My assistant loves it, brings it in every week. Don't let him get started on all the health benefits or you'll be there for days." He scraped an errant feather and broken quill into the bin beside his desk. "Shall we get to it?"

"Small talk isn't really our thing, is it?" Draco took a seat in one of the wide leather chairs in front of Harry's desk. "Came down to find me in person. Must be hush-hush if you didn't want to send a flunky to fetch me here. Didn't want the office gossips to get word? This wasn't the way to go about it. Doreen had everyone in the secretarial pool alerted before we got on the lift, I can guarantee you."

Harry leaned back in his chair and stared at Draco. He scratched the top of one ear, sighing. "I was already there to check on ... someone else."

Draco threw a sharp look at him, but Harry continued without further explanation. "I talked to your supervisor yesterday. Verified that you were ready to go. The case, the ghost, all that. Elkins was fine with it, but your Wizengamot liaison acted off about the whole thing. Couldn't tell if he wanted to get you the hell out of London or if he didn't trust you out of his sight."

"Very few people do." Draco said with a half-hearted shrug. "Consequences of a misspent youth. If anyone had told me I'd actually live through the entire war, I might have made different choices." He gestured over his shoulder at the wheel slowly rotating in the distance. "Office with a window would have been nice."

"Come by on Thursdays. It's the zoo, then."

"Never was much for animals." Draco rubbed his arm where the hippogriff had clawed him open all those years before.

Harry gave a quick snort. "So you ended up in Magical Creatures. Good choice."

"That wasn't a choice, Potter."

They stared at each other. Harry broke first, looking away and clearing his throat. "Right. About your assignment. Faith-In-Hart is a Muggle village, no magical residents at all, so you're going to have to watch yourself even more carefully while you're there."

"Don't insult the Muggles, don't use any spells, and, above all, don't be an evil Dark wizard hell-bent on world domination." Draco stared into his tea. A tiny shred of a leaf floated near the rim and he plucked it out. He wiped it on the side of his chair while Harry wasn't looking. "I know all the rules. They've never changed, unless it was to get tighter. I'm surprised I'm not actually chained to my desk by this point. The Ministry seems to enjoy having a pet Death Eater in its cage."

Harry sighed. "You got off light," he said quietly. "You weren't of age, you were threatened, your family was threatened. You and your mother both did a few things that turned out to be helpful in the long run. All of that was taken into consideration when you were sentenced. That's _why_ you're still free. I know you're under loads of restrictions, but it's better than Azkaban."

"Dunno," Draco said, pretending to examine his nails. "My father used to say he got to see the sun once or twice a year. His letters were alarmingly cheery on that point."

Harry met his eyes and gave him a steady look. This time Draco looked away first. "I'll behave myself, Potter. Don't twist your knickers. I'll stay within my restrictions, I'll investigate this case on behalf of the Ministry, and I'll be a good, upright citizen."

"You'll have to." Draco looked up at him, one brow raised at the unusual tone of Harry's voice. Harry opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a thick bundle of files and parchments, bound together with knotted twine. The file on top was marked with the joint symbols of the Wizengamot and MLE's Auror Office. At the bottom, a name was scribbled in Harry's messy writing. Malfoy, Draco Lucius. Harry drummed his fingers on the file. "Your next hearing is in a month," he said. "And if you pull this off...."

His voice softened. "If you pull this off, it could be your _last_ hearing."

Draco stiffened. The tea left in his cup sloshed against the sides and he put it down quickly before he spilled on the faded carpet. Locking his hands together to keep the shake in them from being as obvious, he swallowed hard. "Last hearing. What do you mean, last hearing?"

Harry drew his wand and tapped it on the knotted twine. The knot slithered loose, the ends falling to the desk. Harry opened the file and spread the parchments out. "You've done good work the past few years, Malfoy. No matter what kind of shit you get for it, you keep your head down and you keep working. You don't fight against your restrictions. Much," he added with a short laugh. "And I have several different letters of recommendation for you from jobs you've done. All in all, you've proved to my satisfaction that you are fully rehabilitated and that you no longer need to be under the eye of the Auror Office. I intend to testify on your behalf at your next hearing and recommend that you be completely released from the terms of your sentence."

Draco sat without moving. His mouth hung open throughout Harry's speech. At the final statement, he snapped his jaw shut with a loud clack of his teeth. "Potter," he said slowly. "If you're fucking with me, I will _gleefully_ go to Azkaban for killing you. Could even be justifiable."

"It's true. Every word. Everyone deserves a second chance, Malfoy." Harry shifted a few papers, pushed his glasses up his nose, and shrugged. "I honestly didn't think you'd last three years, and it's been five times that. You've surprised me. Surprised the whole world, really. If you can do this assignment without any trouble, without breaking a single rule set for you, then I'll get your sentence cleared. I promise I will get you freed. You've earned it."


	3. 18 March 2013

The trip back to Magical Creatures went fast, and Draco whistled as he stepped out of the lift with no hesitation in his stride. Doreen looked at him with a wide smile. "Someone's in a better mood," she said. "Glad to see it. You have a great smile, Mr Malfoy. It's a shame you don't show it off more often. Understandable with everything that's happened to you, but it's so nice that you're able to keep going despite it all. I really admire that in you."

"After the news I just got, you should be seeing this smile for the rest of the day." Draco leaned a hip against the short side of Doreen's desk and flicked the petals of one of the carnations in the vase next to her quill holder. "I don't think there's anything that could--"

"Draco Malfoy!"

"Ruin my day." Draco slumped and pinched the bridge of his nose. After talking to Harry, he'd managed to forget that it was Hermione's first day back to the department. The echoing shout brought him back to reality fast. He rubbed his temple and straightened up to turn and face the woman storming toward him.

That had been a mistake. She'd dressed up for her return to work, and now that he was looking at her, he couldn't look away. Her blue dress stopped just above her knees, the floating hem licking at her thighs. Tall, spiked heels showed off her trim ankles and toned calves. The deep neckline of the dress was filled in with a pale cream lace that did more to draw his eyes to the shadowed valley between her breasts than distract him.

She strode up to him and planted her feet, fists jammed on her hips. The heels put her within two inches of his height and she stared directly into his eyes. "How dare you," she snapped. "How dare you think that you're qualified to take a case involving Muggles? You are absolutely the _last_ person who should be dealing with Muggles and there is no reason--"

"Hermione." Draco didn't realize until he'd spoken that he'd intended to say her name. He definitely hadn't intended to say it in that low, rolling voice that had stopped her talking so many times before. He could feel heat spreading down the back of his neck and could see a blush forming on Hermione's cheeks. He coughed quietly and straightened his shoulders. "Miss Granger. What can I do for you?"

Hermione folded her arms under her breasts and glared at him. "You can tell me what makes you think that this Faith-In-Hart ghost case is one that _you_ should be taking. What were you thinking, Draco? It's ridiculous that you would even--"

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione sucked air over her teeth, spinning around with her eyes sparking at the second interruption in a minute. Draco took a step back. A Granger in high dudgeon was a Granger not to be interrupted. Not without certain underhanded tactics that he had perfected at one time.

Doreen straightened her shoulders under Hermione's glare. She narrowed her eyes and returned the stern look. "Miss Granger," she said, her voice tight, with a harsh tone to it that made Draco raise a brow. "Today is your first day back. If you're going to hex anyone, do it out of the building. They're going to turn your office into a supply closet if you have to take leave again."

"It _is_ a supply closet," Hermione said acerbically. She huffed, then blew out her breath and dragged both hands through her hair to shove her curls behind her shoulders. Her hands fell to her sides, fingers flexing and curling. "You're right," she said after a moment. "Doreen, don't worry. I'm not going to hex anyone. _Yet_ ," she added, whipping around to point one finger at Draco. "Don't you even think about slithering off, Malfoy. I'm not done with you."

Draco held up both hands. "Not slithering. Just heading to my office."

"I'll join you." Her heels cracked against the floor as she fell into step beside him despite his token protest. That close, the scent of her perfume, something warm and spicy, wrapped around him. Draco tried to inhale quietly. It was a bad idea and would mess with his dreams for the next week, but he wanted to keep that scent with him.

He stepped into his office, Hermione directly behind him, and picked up the post he'd forgotten when Harry hauled him off to MLE for their chat. "If you're planning to continue shouting at me," he said, dumping three invitations for office parties straight into the bin, "let me stop you. I didn't _ask_ for this assignment. I think it's as horrific an idea to send me to a Muggle village as you do. But I wasn't given the option to turn it down. It's the Horklump colony all over again."

Hermione wrinkled her nose and sighed. "What do you think Elkins is doing to you this time?"

"The usual."

"She's not after you, Draco. You may think she is, but it's not as though she's sneaking up behind you in the corridors and hexing you in the back."

Draco looked up from an envelope. "No. That's the average wizard on the street. Elkins hates me straight to my face." 

He stared at Hermione until she flushed and glanced away. "Y-yes. Well. There's no sense in you going. Muggles, Draco. Maybe there's a ghost, maybe not, but there's definitely Muggles. Sending you off alone? I'm not sure who would get punished more."

"I'm not going alone. I'm going with Laura Madley. She'll be watching me the whole time, so Elkins can get her reports and her jollies and oh fuck." He held a card in both hands. On the cover, a unicorn with a bandage around one leg reclined on a thick patchwork pillow. Draco snatched a note out of the card. "Sign and return to reception. Who's ill?" He flipped the card open and swayed, groping for his chair.

"Draco?" Hermione extended one hand, stepping closer.

Draco shook his head at her. He slapped a button on the intercom at the side of his desk. "Doreen!" he shouted. "What's this card?"

Doreen's voice came from the speaker, tinny and warbling. "Get well card for Laura."

"Laura? _Laura_?" Draco dropped into his chair, breath leaving him in a whoosh. "Tell me there's more than one Laura in the department."

"Just the one. Laura Madley. She tangled with an Occamy this weekend. The Indian National Quidditch team sneaked one in for their exhibition match. She'll be in hospital for at least three weeks."

Draco slumped forward and put his head on the desk. "Shit," he muttered into the wood. "Shit, fuck, fucking shit."

"Mr Malfoy?" Doreen sounded worried. Draco didn't move until she spoke again. "There's something else."

He tipped his head sideways and groaned. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione press the intercom button. "Draco's having an aneurysm, Doreen. What is it?"

"Supervisor Elkins left a message for him before she went to lunch. It said, hmmm, let me find it, just a second." There was the sound of papers rustling and a thump and clatter followed by a muffled swearing. After a minute, Doreen spoke again. "Here we are. Dicto-Quill message. 'Tell Malfoy that Madley is out of commission and he has until the end of the day to find a new partner and get them cleared by the Auror Office. If he can find someone who isn't on assignment and is willing to work with him.' Oh, dear," Doreen said.

"What now?" Draco mumbled into his desk.

"At the bottom. I think she forgot to shut down the Dicto-Quill. It says, and I quote, 'that should give him some dammit quill stop'. Sorry, Mr Malfoy."

Draco weakly lifted his head and flicked two fingers at the intercom. Hermione disconnected it. "That's a relief," she said.

Draco sat up and glared at her. "It's not a relief. It's a catastrophe. A complete and utter clusterfuck."

"I don't remember you swearing this much before," Hermione said, drawing her fingers along the edge of his desk.

"Before, I wasn't about to lose--" Draco cut himself off and gritted his teeth. It was none of her business why he needed this assignment so much. There was no way he was going to explain. Not then, not to her. "Never mind. It's a problem, all right? I have to go on this case. That's all there is to it. I _have_ to."

Hermione settled into the chair facing him and smoothed the hem of her dress over her crossed legs. "Looks like you're screwed, then. I'm going to take it. I'm the best candidate, especially when it comes to a case involving Muggles, and I was going to talk Elkins into throwing you off the assignment as it was. Now I don't have to. I'll just take over. You can send me any notes you have. Unless there's someone free?" she asked with a false cheer that made Draco grip the arms of his chair with force.

"No," he said flatly. "There are plenty of people free but no one's willing to leave town with me, surprise, surprise. Laura was the only one and that was because she's the biggest fair play Hufflepuff to come out of Hogwarts in three hundred years. Plus she fancies Elkins and will do anything to get under her skirts."

Hermione hummed and examined her nails. "Then it's settled. I'll take the case. Nice assignment for a first day back."

Draco stared at Hermione, his hands so tight on the arms of his chair that his fingers cramped. "No," he said. "No. Not happening. There's no way in hell I'm just handing this over to you. I _need_ to do this, Hermione."

"There's no one else," she said, lifting her brows. "You just said. You can't possibly do this alone, so--"

"Come with me."

They both froze, staring at each other. Hermione's eyes were wide and shocked; Draco was sure his were just as startled. He hadn't meant to say that or anything even close to it, but now that the words were out, it didn't seem like such a bad idea. Or maybe it was, but it didn't matter. If he didn't take and succeed at this assignment, Harry wouldn't testify before the Wizengamot, and if Head Auror Potter didn't testify, Draco's record wouldn't be cleared. He couldn't take waiting another three years for his next hearing. Not when he was this close, so close he could practically feel freedom in his bones. If she thought she could take the assignment from him, she had another think coming. He was willing to do whatever it took to get his restrictions removed.

He coughed and pried his hands from the chair. Folding them together on the desk, he looked at Hermione. He did his best to keep his expression clear, to give her no reason to suspect anything unusual. From the way she returned his look, he hadn't succeeded. He didn't care. "Come with me," he said again. "You're right, you're the most qualified person to deal with Muggles. I fully agree with you there. Can't think of anyone better. But I can't hand the assignment over to you. Besides the fact that I just don't want to, Potter's already set everything up for me to go. If you want to be involved, then that's no problem. I'm fine with that. The Auror Office would approve you in a second. There wouldn't be much to change, just take Laura's name off the forms and put yours on instead."

He stood and circled the desk to sit on the corner of it, closer to her. He touched her, drawing his fingers down the back of her hand to circle under her wrist and sweep along her forearm. It wasn't entirely fair of him, a reminder of what had happened between them in the past; it wasn't entirely sane of him, either, as the feel of her skin, soft and warm, made his heart race, but he knew what it would do to her. The gentle touch on one of her most sensitive body parts, nearly an erogenous zone, always drove her mad. It was one of those underhanded tactics he knew so well. He'd hate himself for using it now if she wasn't giving him that wide-eyed look and sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.

"Please, Hermione," he said, brushing her arm again. She shivered and ducked her head, hair falling over her face to hide the red blush that had streamed over her cheeks. Draco took a deep breath and used the last weapon he had. "Come with me. I need your help."

* * *

Draco tipped his head against the wall, stretched his legs out along the narrow bed tucked into the corner of his room, and listened to the man upstairs shouting at his ex-wife on the telephone for the eighth time that month. Muggles, at least the ones who let rooms in this house, didn't believe in private conversations, apparently. Bob or Bill or whoever, the name still unclear to Draco even after living there for nearly three years, liked to wander the halls and common areas, yelling into that odd mobile device about fucking Rhonda, her fucking sister, the fucking M25, and those fucking Gooners. Draco had determined that the 'Gooners' were some sort of sport team, and one that disappointed Bob-Bill on a regular basis, but anything else was impossible to identify through the raving and the heavy accent.

A slamming door and pounding footsteps told him that Bob-Bill had stormed out for the nightly pissup at whatever sticky pub he favored, and Draco closed his eyes to concentrate on his own problems.

He'd asked Hermione to join him on the assignment. Not just asked. He'd practically begged. He knew that, at the time, he'd tried to frame it to himself as talking her into helping him for his own benefit, but now that he was alone in his tiny Ministry-assigned flat, he could admit the truth to himself.

He wanted to be near her again.

That was the simplest way to put it, the easiest thing to tease out of the mess of confusion and longing and need that was twisted in his mind. There was more to it, _far_ more to it than he was willing to examine, but that was a starting point.

He missed her. What they'd had before.... There was nothing in his life that could compare to how things had been with her. Of all the people in the world, she was the wrong one by most standards. Muggleborn and pureblood. Fallen Death Eater and victorious fighter. However anyone wanted to put it, whatever point of comparison was chosen, they were completely wrong for each other and always had been.

If only they hadn't felt so _right_.

When they were together, everything was perfect. He forgot about his sentence, his past, his mistakes. He only thought about how free he felt with her. Not allowed to even touch a broom? Not a concern. When she brushed his fringe out of his eyes and smiled at him, he could fly. When she rested her head on his shoulder and drifted to sleep, her thigh pressed to his and her hand over his stomach, he could reach out and pluck the stars from the sky.

He missed all of that, all of her, with a pain that felt like broken glass in his veins. He missed her more than he could have ever imagined before things had ended.

He'd asked her to join him on the assignment because he missed her, and even trying to assassinate Albus Dumbledore could not have been a bigger mistake. Draco thumped his head on the wall, grimacing when he heard the thin plaster crack, and groaned deep in his throat. He rubbed his eyes, trying to focus, trying to get the thought of her out of his mind. It wasn't working. All he could think about was the way she'd looked at the Ministry that day.

The way she'd looked at _him_. First the outrage, then....

"Goddammit," he mumbled, his fingers pressing against his throat to feel his heart racing. Then. Then he touched her, and she looked at him. It was just for a moment before she ducked her head, but in that moment he'd seen the emotions that had burned between them. The attraction, the desire, the searing need. In that one second, he'd remembered everything they'd been to each other, and it had nearly shattered him. Her anger had been some sort of performance, a tactic he'd recognized from prior cases and previous Ministry-related fights. When she wanted something desperately enough, her temper could be legendary. But the look she'd given him, the passion in it.... That hadn't been faked. That had been real, and it had brought up a stir of memories he'd never been able to forget.

Draco closed his eyes and listened to the house creaking around him and the traffic on the street outside. He shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have asked her to come on the assignment with him. He wriggled down to lie across the bed, tucked his hands beneath his head, and stared at the irregular water stain on the ceiling. He shouldn't have done it. It was a mistake. It could cost him everything he'd worked toward since the day of his sentencing. He never should have asked her to join him. It was going to be hell.


	4. 22 March 2013

Near the phone box that hid the street entrance to the Ministry of Magic, Hermione refastened the elastic on the end of her long braid, adjusted the strap of the leather bag over her shoulder, and rolled her eyes at Harry. "Don't bother," she said as he started to speak. "You've already said the same thing a dozen times. You're not going to change my mind. I wanted this assignment, and if I have to work with Draco, so be it. I'm fully capable of it." Harry opened his mouth again and Hermione held up her hand. "I'm also fully capable of doing this _without_ hexing him. I'm sure he'll deserve it a dozen times in the first hour we're there, but I'll behave."

"It's not you I'm worried about," Harry muttered, low enough that Hermione could pretend to ignore what he'd said. She chose to do so, checking the books she'd put in her bag. One travel guide to the Cotswolds, one wildly popular novel with a nondescript cover, and three books on ghosts, two Muggle, one magical. Beneath them was the trunk she'd packed and given a Shrinking Charm.

Harry cleared his throat. "I don't see why you wanted this case so much. _Still_ ," he added when she looked at him. "Yes, still. You gave me all your reasons, but they don't make enough sense. It's in your department. Fine. It deals with Muggles. All right. It's light duty for your first case now that you're back to work. Got it. But that's not--" He shrugged and tossed up his hands in confusion. "It's all very good, but it's not _logical_. Not for you. Not for Hermione Granger, the rational one."

Hermione pushed a loose curl off her forehead and looked down the street, acting as if she were looking for Draco. He had told her to wait near the phone box for him and Harry had insisted on waiting with her. She realized now that she should have Petrified him and left him in his office. Fending off the occasional overly-flirtatious man passing by on the street would have been less frustrating than fending off Harry's questions. Especially questions she couldn't answer. She'd been thinking about it since she'd seen the article in the paper. She couldn't explain it to herself, much less to Harry. "It's one of the mysteries of life," she said, forcing a note of levity into her voice. "Can't explain it, Harry. You'll have to put it down to the ineffable vagaries of the feminine mind."

"God," Harry mumbled, slumping against the wall next to the phone box. "Fine, forget it. When you start throwing around words like vagaries, it's time to give up. I feel like McGonagall is about to assign twelve inches." He rubbed his scar under his fringe. "Just hope you know what you're doing. Try not to kill Malfoy, would you? I hate doing paperwork."

Hermione snorted. She checked her watch, twisting the band around her wrist to get the sunlight off the reflective face so she could see the numbers. "If he doesn't show up soon, I might have to kill him. He said he'd be here by half ten."

Harry pointed behind her, his green eyes shining and his lips quirked in a teasing smile. With his voice full of laughter, he said, "Maybe that's him."

Hermione turned around to see an antique car pulling up to idle beside them. Long, sleek, painted in a shimmering grey, it seemed to purr even when the engine shut off. She didn't need to see the red badge on the radiator grill to identify the car. "Phantom," she whispered, her hands tight around the strap of her bag. "It's a Phantom. Oh my god. I _love_ these!"

She jumped forward to let her hands hover over the car's hood, careful not to touch it so she wouldn't leave fingerprints on the beautiful shining paint. She turned her head to look into the car. The shock dropped her forward, arms sliding across the hood. Behind the wheel sat Draco Malfoy.

"Shit, I was kidding," she heard behind her. 

Hermione scrambled up and staggered back beside Harry as Draco stepped out of the car. "Mal-Mal," she tried. Next to her, Harry was practically choking. "Mal. Malfoy," she finally managed. "A car? You? Own a car?"

Draco patted the roof affectionately. The buttoned sleeve of his pressed shirt rode up and he jerked it down quickly to hide the silvery scar on his forearm, shaking his arm to settle it into place. "Nice, isn't it? Thought we could go to the Cotswolds in style since all my other options are out."

Hermione knotted her brows, confused by Draco's statement, but before she could ask, Harry stepped forward. He shook his head. "No. No way, Malfoy. There's no way you can use a magical car. How could you even think you'd get away with this?"

"Ah, there's the trick," Draco said. He leaned against the car and folded his arms to smirk at Harry. "It's not magical. It's completely Muggle. Not a spell or charm has been anywhere near this thing. It's as pristine as the day my great-grandfather got it. Not one person can stop me from driving this to the Cotswolds. Doesn't break a single rule that I'm meant to follow."

Harry made a face. "Transportation gets any hint of this and they'll figure out a way to forbid it."

"Then it will go back into the loving hands of Royland and Sons Vintage Auto Service and Storage, where it's been since my great-grandfather died." Draco scratched the tip of his nose and glanced to Hermione, still smiling. "But to be on the safe side, we should get going before someone, possibly named Potter, alerts Transportation. Get your luggage, Granger."

She tore her eyes away from the car with some effort. "Right here," she said, patting her bag. Draco gave her a curious look and Hermione flashed a grim. "Spatial Charms a specialty. You'd be amazed how much I can fit into one trunk and how small that trunk can be."

"I remember. The amount of things you took to Par--" Draco coughed and straightened up. "Let's go," he said before he slid behind the wheel and slammed the door.

Hermione was grateful Draco had stopped there. She didn't need the reminder of their last trip together right before they left on this one. From the look on Harry's face, he either knew and wouldn't ask, or he didn't want to know. She gave him a quick hug. "We'll be fine, Harry. I'll be fine, I promise. Don't fret. Shuffle around the house in your boxers and spill crisps all over the rug. I know what you do when I'm gone."

Harry laughed and playfully tapped her shoulder. "It's what men do on their own. But all right, I give up. Go. Be safe. If you do kill him, hide the body and act innocent."

"Deal." Hermione fixed his collar and patted his cheek before hopping away to rush around the car and clamber into the passenger seat. She drummed her hands on her thighs and kicked her feet like a child. "C'mon, let's go!"

Draco gave a jaunty wave to Harry and pulled away. "Had no idea you liked cars," he said.

"If I'd known you had one, you'd have known I liked them." Hermione gave into the temptation to run her fingers over every bit of the interior she could reach. "Actually, it was my grandmother who really liked cars. She was a mechanic in the Women's Auxiliary during the war. Muggle war," she clarified when Draco made an odd sound. "Back in the forties. She mostly worked on military vehicles but sometimes she'd get her hands on an officer's private car. She said she met the Queen once. Before she was the Queen, of course. Gran learned to love cars, and when I'd visit when I was little, she'd show me all these photos she had from cars she'd worked on. One of my favorites was just like this. A Rolls-Royce Phantom. What series is it? One? Two? Who did the body work? What year is it?"

Draco, who had a small smile curling his lips through all her questions, shook his head. "No idea. I don't know anything about it, really. Family legend says my great-grandfather bought it on a bet. Bit of a gambler, him. Couldn't resist a wager, even if it involved Muggle things. From what I know, it was something to do with red petrol, but beyond that, it's lost to time. Car's been in storage since he died. I think the caretakers drive it once or twice a year to keep it running. First time I've taken it out myself, though."

Hermione settled back, stroking the door beside her. "That explains why your family has a car, but brings up another question. Where did you learn to drive?"

Draco chuckled. "Doreen taught me. Passed me walking to my flat one night and she drove me home. She insisted that anyone my age, wizard or not, should know how to drive. Gave me a crash course one weekend. Almost literally," he said with a shake of his head. "Went around in circles in some empty lot for a few hours. Flattened a couple of rubbish bins and scraped her mirror off, but I managed."

"I can't believe you can drive," Hermione said. "I can't believe Doreen was mad enough to teach you, really, but I definitely can't believe that you learned."

"How else did you think we were getting to the Cotswolds? I certainly wasn't planning to walk there."

"Portkey, I thought. Should have been easy enough to get one."

Draco tensed. "Need to concentrate," he grumbled. He went silent, his hands locking around the wheel.

Aware that she'd just tripped over something that broke their mood, but unsure of what it was, Hermione waited until they were well out of the city before speaking again. "What Harry was saying about Transportation. They'll forbid it and your other options are out? What's this about?"

Draco didn't respond. He kept his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel. Hermione nestled back in her seat, watching his profile and mulling over things in her mind, going over every moment she could remember that had to do with magical forms of transportation and Draco Malfoy. Something clicked and she sucked in air quietly. "It's why you made me Apparate us both whenever we went anywhere, isn't it? All those excuses - Floo made you ill, Portkeys took too long - they were nothing more than excuses, weren't they?"

Draco's eyes flickered, the small action enough to confirm her thoughts. Hermione danced her fingers on the top of her door without looking away from him. "The Department of Transportation shouldn't have the authority to _forbid_ you, though."

"They don't," Draco finally said, his voice barely louder than the car's engine. "But the Wizengamot does. Part of my sentence. No Portkey, no Floo, no broom. And they just denied me an Apparition license again this week. So, I'm left with this," he said, gesturing at the interior of the car. "At least it's a decent way to travel, even if it does stick out a bit. I can pretend to be some rich, pretentious ponce, right?"

It was a weak attempt at a joke and Hermione didn't laugh. She drew her braid over her shoulder to tap the end against her lips. "I could have Apparated us both," she said. "We're familiar with that. I'm sure we could stand to touch for a few minutes."

Draco growled under his breath and shook his head as he passed a rusty sedan with a spaniel panting out the rear window. "No. As it happens, no. I'm not going to get into it, but that wouldn't have worked." He looked at her and gave a tight smile. "Enjoy the trip, Granger. Not every day you get to ride in a Phantom."

He went back to driving, the topic clearly closed as far as he was concerned. Hermione kept watching him for a few moments, then turned to stare out the window and let her mind wander. She wasn't done with the subject, but she was willing to let it go for a while.

* * *

Draco stayed silent for most of the drive. He glanced over when they were twenty miles from the village of Faith-In-Hart to see Hermione sleeping, her head against the door. Her mouth hung open and her fingers were curled on her thigh, twitching as if she was holding a quill and writing notes. Unable to help himself, Draco smiled. She always did research in her dreams. He'd put a quill in her hand one night and she'd written, messy and illegible, on the bedsheets.

When she yawned and stirred in her sleep, Draco turned his attention back to the road to keep from watching her. While Doreen had taught him to drive, he hadn't bothered to get a license. The company who stored and cared for the car kept it legal, but he couldn't afford to make any mistakes that might draw attention from Muggle authorities. Driving was a bewildering process as it was, and Hermione's presence in the car, even snoring quietly, was a huge distraction. He kept wanting to touch her. To rub his thumb over the heavy seam on her jeans or to rest his hand on the back of her neck. Seeing her as he'd pulled up by the phone box outside the Ministry, with her braid shining like sculpted copper in the sun, had made him think.

Made him think that he should keep driving, never stop, head across the Channel and disappear into one of those minuscule countries in the middle of Europe. He could raise goats, make cheese, learn Flemish. Anything would be simpler than spending time with Hermione. Together. Alone.

He was in deep already, and he knew it. Her gleeful excitement over the car, her cheery babbling about her grandmother and her childhood - it could have been irritating. He'd found it charming, even endearing. He had talked about his own family, something he rarely did even for her, in hopes that she'd keep going. That she'd keep talking and fill the car with her voice and the warmth of her laugh.

Then she'd questioned him. Draco's hands tightened on the wheel. He sped up to pass a brightly painted lorry and leave the road clear ahead of him. Certain things he never discussed, and they'd been treading too close. Going into that silent, non-responsive state hadn't been the best option and had probably tipped her off to something that would lead to more questions later, but his other choice in an uncomfortable situation was to get the hell out, to take off and never look back. Not possible while he was driving.

Draco took a slow breath and forced himself to concentrate on the road, on keeping his speed within safe boundaries and the car from drifting. It wouldn't be possible to get away from her at all on this assignment. He made a silent wish that they could solve the case quickly and get back to London without much trouble. Otherwise he might go mad before he could reach his hearing.


	5. 22 March 2013

"Granger. Granger. Hermione."

Draco gently touched her cheek. Hermione murmured and turned her head. Her lips brushed the heel of his hand. With a gasp, she sat up, eyes flying open. Draco pulled back, looking away from her. Hermione shook her head, rubbed her eyes, and cleared her throat. "Wha?"

"You were asleep," Draco said. He spoke quietly, eyes focused on the building beside the car. "Time to wake up. We're here. Welcome to Faith-In-Hart, Wiltshire, population four hundred Muggles. And two wizards."

"One wizard," she said, voice thick with sleep. "One witch."

"Let's not get into that argument." Draco got out of the car and stretched, groaning when his left shoulder popped.

"Still have trouble with that?" Hermione asked. She folded her arms on the roof of the car and nodded at his shoulder.

Draco shrugged. "Get turned into a ferret and bounced off the wall just once, and your shoulder is never the same."

She grimaced. "Moody - Crouch, that is - shouldn't have done that. It was far too-too...."

"Terrifying? Humiliating? Dislocating?"

"Vengeful." Hermione bent over to touch her toes and rotated her torso to ease out the hints of a cramp in her lower back. "But speaking of things that shouldn't be done, you're going to need to watch what you say. Transfiguration isn't teatime talk here." She straightened up and looked around. 

They were parked in front of a large building. It looked as though it might have been a church at one time, but now it appeared to be an indoor version of an outdoor market, with stalls and booths where vendors sold everything from lace shawls to reproduction prints to fresh bread. Next to the market was a stone archway with a metal placard reading 'Hotel Registration'. Several other buildings, all from the late medieval era, lined the street. They had been turned into shops and restaurants for the most part, with bright signs hanging above the cobbled walks. Each shop had a window box full of flowers: violets, begonias, carnations, and nasturtiums were a riot of color. Hermione tipped her head back to let the sunshine flow over her face. 

Draco removed two black cases from the car, shrugging at Hermione's curious expression when she looked to him. "Not as good at packing as you are," he said with a quick laugh. "This was as compact as I could get." He handed her bag to her and led her through the archway to a small courtyard garden. 

Hermione stopped to stroke the petals of an antique tea rose. "This is lovely," she said with a contented sigh. "I could stay right here."

"We'll hope your room has a view of the garden, then." Draco hoisted his cases and jerked his head at a door tucked into a spill of ivy. "Let's check in. I want to put these down and find someplace safer to put my car. I don't want it stolen the first day I use it."

"This is a tiny village. I think we could find it again fast." Hermione patted the rose one more time and followed Draco into a reception area, warmly lit by lamps with golden glass shades. Several plush armchairs were gathered near a cold fireplace, with stacks of magazines and brochures resting on a table near the wall. A spiral staircase was just visible behind a door with a placard pointing guests to their rooms. A tall roll-top desk was in the corner of the room near another door, with an elderly woman sitting in a Windsor chair.

She smiled and stood to shake their hands. Her polished brass name badge identified her as Althea. "Welcome, welcome to Faith-In-Hart and the Wilton Hotel. Do you have a reservation?"

"Two for Malfoy," Draco said. 

Althea pulled a leather-bound ledger out of a wide cubbyhole in the desk. She flipped it open to a long woven bookmark and a page with several lines of names written in a spiky script. "Malfoy," she said, drawing her finger down the list. With a purse of her lips, she turned to the previous page. This got a smile out of her. "Here we are, Malfoy. But.... Oh, dear." She glanced up at Draco, then to Hermione, then she stood and pushed open the door by her. "Jilly! Jilly, come here."

"Althea, you said I could rehearse!" called a younger woman's voice.

"I said you could rehearse as long as I didn't need you. I need you. Come here."

An elfin woman, barely out of her teens, with round glasses and brilliantly green hair, emerged from behind the door and laid a long wooden recorder on the desk. Althea pointed to the ledger. "Jilly, did you take this reservation?"

Jilly pushed her hair behind her ears and peered at the ledger. "It's hair dye," Hermione whispered to Draco while the women were distracted. "She's not a Metamorphmagus."

Draco replied without moving his lips. "I know. One of the men in my building dyes his the most horrendous shade of yellow. He looks like a minicab." He looked at her and lifted a brow. "I know more about Muggles than you think, Granger."

She didn't have time to respond. Jilly nodded and tapped the ledger with a bright purple nail. "Yep, that was me. Malfoy and partner, the woman said when she called. I gave them that nice room, the one with the-- oh." She looked at Draco and Hermione for the first time. Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth, hiding a flash of silver dental work. "Oh, I'm so sorry. When I heard 'and partner', I just assumed it was a-a-a couple. Um, a _male_ couple. Draco Malfoy and Lawrence Madley?"

Hermione hid a smile as Draco sighed. "No," he said evenly. "Malfoy and business partner. Miss Granger is replacing Miss Laura Madley."

Jilly and Althea exchanged glances. Jilly shrugged; Althea twisted the cuff of her cardigan sleeve. "There's been a bit of a misunderstanding, then. We've given you one room. One bed," she added with a sheepish tilt of her head.

Hermione dropped her bag on the floor and stepped closer to the desk. "No," she said before Draco could speak. "No way. Please find us another room."

"That'll be hard," Jilly said. "With all the--"

"Tourists." Althea narrowed her eyes and gave a pointed look to Jilly before rummaging in the desk and coming up with a handful of brochures. She spread them over the top of the desk for Draco and Hermione to examined. "Spring always means visitors to our area and we have loads of events for tourists. There's the flower festival up in Lower Bredhurst. Beautiful conservatory there, and a darling little restaurant. Then there's Wirkswold, which has such pretty walks around the woods and a lovely waterfall. Or you could try the fair at Tornhart Hall. It's a bit of a drive, ten miles or so east, but it's so much fun. Rides and games and little shops. They say it's a historical re-enactment fair but they can't seem to pick their history. All the centuries end up jumbled together." Althea winked. "I think it's more an excuse for fancy dress and playing pretend, but there's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Jilly jumped in, pushing the brochures aside. "And if you're still here the night of the full moon, you can hear our ghost!"

"What?" Draco and Hermione said at the same time.

Jilly giggled, draping her hands over the top of the desk. Her eyes shone. "Oh, it's wonderful! A few months ago, we started hearing a ghost just outside the village. People have been coming from everywhere, trying to get a glimpse of her. All the hotels from here to Coleston are booked and not just for the festivals," she added with an impertinent look at Althea. "They're here for the ghost, too."

Althea, looking through the ledger and at a chart of rooms, clucked her tongue. "There's no ghost, Jilly. It's odd spring weather, that's all. Just what that gentleman on the radio said."

"There's a ghost. I'm sure of it. And I'm going to see it." Jilly folded her arms and lifted her chin.

Draco rapped his knuckles on the desk to halt what was clearly an unwinnable argument. "Ladies." When Jilly and Althea turned to him, he gave a smile and gestured to the ledger. "An additional room for my partner?"

Althea shook her head. "I'm sorry, but there's very little we can do. We have a gentleman checking out in two days, but everywhere else is full."

"There has to be something you can do." Hermione tugged at the end of her braid. "Please. We can't share a room, much less a bed."

Althea made a few more comparisons between the chart and the ledger. "Perhaps," she said slowly. "There's no place in the hotel proper, but we do own the garden cottage on the far end of the village. It's currently available. Beautiful view of the Roman bridge and the incense shop is right next door. Pretty private garden. And two bedrooms."

"Sounds perfect," Hermione said. "Why didn't you offer this before?"

"It's not connected, so there's no maid or room service," Althea said. "You'd be on your own until you check out, I'm afraid, unless you come to us for help." Behind Althea's back, Jilly rubbed her thumb and fingers together. Althea didn't seem to need to look at her to make a disapproving sound that halted the motion immediately. "And it's a bit pricey, dear. Exclusive arrangements, after all."

Hermione looked at Draco, who rolled his eyes and pulled a billfold from his back pocket. "Not a problem. We'll take it."

Althea didn't reach for the notes Draco held. She looked at him with a small moue of discomfort on her face. "There's ... one more problem with the room," she said. "I wouldn't suggest it at all if there was any other space available, because this does tend to turn most away. The cottage was never updated with the rest of the village. There's no electricity. It's oil lamps and a gas cooker."

Draco chuckled. "That won't be a problem. Will it, Granger?" he said, glancing at Hermione. "I think we both can handle that."

* * *

Hermione extended her arms and spun and spun in the middle of the garden. The flower beds were full and lush with purples, pinks, and yellows, from pale to darkest shades. Climbing roses clung to the side of the cottage and the stone walls that protected the garden from prying eyes. Beneath the wide branches of a lone tree, a wrought iron bench with embroidered pillows scattered over its seat rested in the dappled shade. She thought she could spend hours there, curled up with a stack of books and a pot of tea, listening to the breeze and the sound of the stream at the bottom of the gently sloping hill behind the garden wall.

The cottage itself was as perfect as the garden. Each cozy room was filled with comfortable furniture, much of it excellent reproductions of medieval pieces with a few that appeared authentic to her eyes. Her bedroom had a canopied bed, draped in dark silks, and a private bathroom. A long divan, plush and inviting, waited near the fireplace. Draco hadn't let her into his room to see if it was the same, but she thought it likely. It was clear that one person with tastes similar to hers had done the whole cottage, making it warm and welcoming to residents, no matter how temporary.

She bounced into the cottage, through the sitting room, and up the narrow stairs to her bedroom. After closing the shutters, just in case, she drew her wand from her bag along with the miniaturized trunk. She set the trunk on the floor under the windows and reversed the Shrinking charm. It took her only a few minutes to unpack - clothes in the wardrobe, toiletries in the bathroom, books on the low table by the bed. She changed shirts, picking a green cowl neck sweater. She switched shoes as well. Sturdy ankle boots were better for walking.

It wasn't until she'd crossed the hall to pound on Draco's door that she remembered the sweater was one of his favorites. He snatched the door open before she could move, and Hermione froze. She stood there, gaping at him. Shirtless, belt undone and black trousers hanging low, hair damp and dangling in his eyes, he was all sharp angles and smooth planes. Even the twisted silvery scar in his left forearm didn't detract from his lean elegance. Hermione caught herself looking at his stomach and the narrow line of pale hair that trailed below his navel and beneath his trousers.

Draco coughed, and the sound broke her stasis. Hermione spun around, hands flying up to cover her burning cheeks. "Sorry!"

"I generally like to dry off completely after taking a shower," Draco said. "But it seems I was rudely interrupted. Are we in a hurry to go somewhere or are you about to complain that I took all the hot water?"

"We, um. Hurry. Yes? Y-yes, we are. We could be." She took a deep breath. This was nothing. She could handle this. She'd seen him shirtless before. She'd seen him _naked_ before. This wasn't a problem.

She rubbed her hands over her head and down the length of her braid. By the time she turned back to Draco, he'd tugged on a shirt. As he buttoned it, he raised his brows. "And just where could we be going? I doubt we'll find any hint of this ghost floating down the high street."

Hermione leaned against the wall opposite his door. "Likely not," she said, her voice steady now that he was mostly dressed. "But we'll be able to talk to the residents, maybe some of the people who have come here for their ghost hunting. Poke our heads in a few shops, check out the market. That sort of thing. We might hear something useful. Where the ghost has been spotted, when it appears." She flapped her hands. "Like that."

Draco tucked in his shirt and fastened his belt. He watched her for a moment, then nodded. "All right. If that's what you want to do. Let me finish up. I'll meet you downstairs in a couple of minutes and then we can go exploring." He shut the door to his room.

Hermione slid down the wall, burying her face against her knees to stifle a groan. She couldn't have been more gawping and wild-eyed if she'd been thirteen again, in the midst of her lunatic fancy for Gilderoy Lockhart. She was surprised Draco hadn't checked her for a jinx or hex that made her stare at him. If she was going to act like a lovesick girl, they'd never make it through this case. She had to pull herself together. She was there to focus on her work, on handling this ghost and the Muggles and her own damned self. Not on the way a bead of water had dripped off Draco's jaw and down his chest.

A noise behind Draco's door made her scramble to her feet. She fled down the stairs without looking back.


	6. 23 March 2013

Draco stood outside one of the little shops in the heart of the village. Hermione had scurried inside the second they'd seen it and she'd been in it for at least twenty minutes. It was a strange combination of a stationer and a pet boutique. Draco normally hated shops with twee names that the owners thought were far more clever than they actually were, but he had to admit that 'Put Some Papers Down' was a name that made him grin. He wasn't sure which part of the shop Hermione was exploring. Knowing her, both would be attractive. He only hoped that she didn't emerge with a squashed-face monster like that creature she'd had in school.

He leaned against the wall and watched other shoppers moving around the square and the squat monument in the center of the grass. Some carried large bags with bright logos, some pulled wire carts behind them, but everyone was loaded down with purchases. Tourism seemed to be a good deal for the local merchants.

A pair of young men shuffled past him, their shaved, stubbly heads down and dirty trainers scuffing along the cobblestones. They hesitated, nudging and shoving each other. Both were on the bulky side, though Draco couldn't tell if that was due to their bodies or the large coats they were wearing despite the warming weather. They reminded him a little of Crabbe and Goyle. He wondered where their leader was. They didn't strike him as the sort who did much on their own except get into trouble.

The nudging and shoving finally reached a conclusion and one of the pair edged forward. "You," he said. His head bobbed as he spoke and he didn't look up from his shoes. "You. You're the fellow with the wicked car, yeah? The old one? Saw it before. Yours, yeah?"

The young man seemed to be swallowing half of his words and it took Draco a moment to realize he was being addressed. The other one made a hawking sound and spoke up. "Phantom."

Draco mentally pegged the first as Goyle and the second as Crabbe, to keep them straight in his head. They were impossible to tell apart otherwise. Village-Goyle bobbed his head again. "Yeah. Phantom. Yours, innit?"

Draco wasn't certain he wanted to admit the car was his. These two didn't look trustworthy to him. However, the car was currently parked behind the gate that sealed off the garden cottage from the street. He didn't think either of these young men could scale the wall. "Yes," he said, nodding once. "That's my car."

"Wicked," Village-Crabbe said. They nudged each other a few more times.

"Was there something you wanted?" Draco asked, hoping the answer wasn't 'to steal it, strip it, and sell it for parts'.

Village-Goyle spat on the cobblestones and shrugged, his coat rustling like dead leaves. "Dunno. Mebbe. The old man does cars. Works on 'em and all. Taught me some things. Never got to see a Phantom up close, just pictures. No new ones, deffo no old ones."

There didn't appear to be a question in the mumbles and Draco lifted his brows, waiting. The nudging and shuffling seemed to be a requirement before either young man could operate their jaws. Village-Crabbe hunched into his coat. "Wanna."

Village-Goyle nodded. "Yeah. Wanna look at it. In the engine, yeah? Took a course. Old man says I got a knack. Could work on the old stuff. Get into special work, y'know. Get to be--" He snapped his fingers at his companion. "What's the word?"

Village-Crabbe gave a grunt. "Sclusive."

"Yeah. Sclusive. Get posh bastards with posh cars, do the fancy work, all that? More dosh in it. So how 'bout it?"

Draco stared at the duo, still confused about the conversation but beginning to put the pieces together. "You want to become a mechanic," he said slowly. The pair nodded in sync. "For vintage automobiles. So that you can build up an exclusive client base and earn more money. And in the pursuit of this, you'd like to look at my car. Do I have it?"

They nudged and shuffled and hunched and bobbed. "Yeah," Village-Goyle said, finally looking up. In contrast to the low-level menace they were trying so hard to project, his expression was open and hopeful. It was the look of a little boy seeing magic, real magic, for the first time. It was the look of someone who had realized there was far more to life than what he'd known before and who wanted to get his hands on some of it.

Draco sighed. This young man had a goal, and a big one. He had to acknowledge ambition like that. "I'm going to be around for a while. I might be able to make arrangements. What's your name?"

"Pisser," Village-Crabbe said with a snort.

Village-Goyle gave him a hard shove. "Geoffrey," he said to Draco. "Geoffrey Millburne. That's Patrick."

"All right, Mr Millburne." Draco hid a smile at the startled look the use of a title earned him. In all probability, Geoffrey had only heard 'Mr Millburne' when he was in hot water with an adult. "Stop by the desk of the Wilton Hotel tomorrow morning. I'll leave a message for you." He thought that would give him enough time to ask some of the locals about the pair. A village like this would likely know everything about the boys. If anything, he could ask Althea at the hotel. She struck him as a gossip.

"Yeah, all right," Geoffrey said. He flashed Draco a quick grin before grabbing Patrick by the coat and hauling him away. Geoffrey turned around to nod at Draco just as the doorbell rang beside him and Hermione stepped out. Geoffrey's jaw dropped and he elbowed Patrick with force. Their mouths moved. Draco didn't need to be able to hear them to know what they'd both said. Hermione was worth the stares. The obscene gesture, even if congratulatory, from Patrick was a bit much, though.

Hermione had a small box, much smaller than Draco had expected, in her hand. It didn't jingle or squawk as she tucked it into the large leather shoulder bag, so Draco assumed she'd been in the stationery side half of the shop. "What was that about?" she asked, nodding at the backs of Geoffrey and Patrick.

"Observing the indigenous wildlife." Draco chuckled when Hermione made a face at him. "You said we should talk to the residents. I'm following orders."

She narrowed her eyes but let it go. "The clerk said we should go to the market and talk to Mrs Brimble, the tearoom for Miss Gibson and Miss Humphreys, and the pub for Mr Crowden. They're all people who have claimed to have seen or heard the ghost. I gather that most of the residents think they're a bit cracked, but harmless enough. If there is a ghost in the village, those would be the best places to start."

Draco nodded and gestured across the green at the old church building. "Market first, then?"

Hermione grinned and took off before he'd finished speaking. Draco caught her up and walked beside her, shortening his strides automatically. "What took so long?" he asked as they passed the monument in the center of the green. "You spent so much time in the shop that I thought you might come out with a litter of puppies."

"Kittens," she said, laughing. "I like cats better than dogs even if puppies are terribly cute. But I wouldn't have bought a pet. It's too soon to replace Crookshanks. I haven't the heart."

Draco caught himself before he stumbled and he looked at Hermione's profile in surprise. "Replace? What happened to him?"

"Old age." Hermione glanced at him, clearly bewildered that he'd even asked. "Crooks was old when I got him, Draco. Being part-- Well, you know. Even that didn't give him many more years than any other cat. He died about four months ago."

"I'm sorry." Draco hadn't liked the cat much, especially when Crooks would sleep on his legs at night, but he knew how Hermione had loved the animal. Crookshanks had been with her since she'd first stepped foot into the magical world, her companion since she was twelve years old. He couldn't imagine how she felt to lose her half-Kneazle familiar. He wished he'd known. Even with everything between them, he'd have been there for her. "I'm sorry, Hermione. That had to be a blow."

She bit her lip, her expression going distant, then she exhaled with deliberation. In control of herself, she squeezed Draco's arm and smiled at him. "Thank you," she said. "I appreciate it."

They didn't speak again until they were inside the market. As if they had one voice, they both said "Look!" They were pointing opposite directions and they laughed when they realized it. Draco had pointed to a stall full of old books, leather spines and covers in varying states of decay. Hermione had pointed to a table bearing black velvet trays with rows of cuff links and tie tacks.

Draco grinned and stepped aside with a small bow. "All right, one circuit each and we meet in the middle."

"Deal." Brushing past him, Hermione went straight to the book stall. Draco hoped the vendor had a few empty boxes to spare. Hermione could clean the stall out in a matter of a few minutes.

He turned to the left and strolled along the booths by the wall. This side of the market was mostly textiles. Piles of uncut fabric, stacks of aging handkerchiefs and tablecloths, shawls and scarves in more colors than he could name. The next section was paintings, prints, and vintage posters. He stopped to examine a poster advertising the premiere performance of a nineteenth century magician. The name was familiar, and he thought this 'magician' might have been a real wizard. Hermione's memory for names was far better than his and he made a mental note to ask her.

In the next section of the market, the booths and stalls were narrower, with silver, gold, and glass jewelry the most prominent merchandise. He gave a sideways stare to a case full of Victorian mourning jewelry. The braided hair bracelets and jet beads surrounding miniature portraits of the dead made his skin crawl. He'd seen too much death in the war; that anyone would want to memorialize it to such an extent was beyond him.

He hurried past that stall, skipping the one next to it as well. At the end of the row, next to a booth selling handmade soaps, lotions, and perfumes, was a stall that was hardly more than a pair of tables. Most of the booths in the market showed signs of long-term occupancy, with decorations, comfortable chairs and warm lights, and other considered touches. This stall looked as the the vendor had arrived that morning and hadn't finished unpacking. Despite the spare, utilitarian look of it, Draco stopped. The sole tray on the front table held a dozen pieces of jewelry.

To Draco's surprise, the pieces were exquisite. Each gem appeared real, not costume or paste, and the metalwork showed signs of master craftsmanship. His eyes were drawn to a brooch no longer than his thumb. The part with the pin was shaped like a silver ribbon twining around and back on itself. A small pendant dangled from the center of the ribbon. In the center of a silver filigree was a cameo carved from green agate, its shades ranging from dark emerald to pale spring. Instead of the usual silhouette of a woman's head, the image carved into the stone was an open book.

Draco stared at the piece for several seconds, his mind whirling. It was ridiculous, he told himself. There was no reason whatsoever for him to even be looking at it. There was no one in his life he could give it to, not anymore.

He found himself reaching for his billfold regardless. A Malfoy never turned down a good opportunity, and this cameo looked as though it was meant for him to have. He paid without a quibble over the price, silently amused at the seller's widened eyes when he presented cash. Draco wondered if the woman's eyes would actually fall out if she knew he considered that no more than pocket money. 

He slipped the small box into his pocket, checking that it wasn't obvious, then went to find Hermione. She was still at the book stall, chatting with the middle-aged woman ensconced in a dark armchair. "Draco," she said, smiling when she saw him. "There you are! I didn't have to go anywhere." She extended one hand to the woman who nodded a greeting. "This is Mrs Brimble," Hermione said in introduction. "We found her."

* * *

Hermione pushed a few peanut shells to the side of the table and wiped a dollop of dark foam off the rim of her glass. "I don't know why I'm eating these, after that dinner," she said. "I hate peanuts." Draco offered the pretzel bowl to her. She shuddered, grimacing. "Do you know how many people put their fingers in there?"

"One," he replied. "Got a fresh batch, right out of the package. Think the bartender, Eric, fancies me. Clean pretzels, two pints for the price of one. I tell you, if I ever do decide to go to the other side, I might move here. The bartender, that dog-walker. I appear to be doing very well for myself with the men of this village."

Hermione laughed. "The ladies at the tearoom would be happy to hear that. They're trying to form a gay and lesbian rounders team and they're short one player."

"Ah, then I've changed my mind. I'll stick with women, if rounders are what's at risk. I'm not much for team sports." Draco slung one arm over the empty seat next to him and grinned at her.

The rim of her glass clattered against her teeth as she snickered. "That's rich coming from you, Mr Qui-- school sport. I think you spent more time practicing than you did studying. Loads of people thought you were aiming to turn pro after you left school."

Draco shook his head. "Not the same. Being a, er. The position I held? It was solo. I didn't really have to work with the rest of the team. All I had to do was keep an eye on the score and try not to grab too soon. I was essentially alone out there. Loved it."

"I could tell. Whenever I could see your face, you looked ... ecstatic. Like there was nothing on earth that could make you happier. You never looked more relaxed than when you were out there. It was as if there was nothing but you and the wind and the sky. It was beautiful, in a way."

Draco watched her, his expression unreadable. After a few moments of silence, he gave a tight chuckle and lifted his glass in a mock salute. "So you spent a lot of time looking at me, hmmm? Flattering, Granger. It was the uniform, wasn't it? Tight breeches and leather. Very alluring."

Hermione snorted and flicked a pretzel at him. He snapped it out of the air and tossed it up to catch it in his mouth. Grinning widely at her as he chewed, he held up both hands in victory. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Prat," she said, her voice laced with amusement.

"So they tell me." Draco looked over her shoulder, brows lifting. "Jilly's headed this way. Think the local ghost spotters have been on the grapevine? We have asked a lot of questions today."

Before Hermione could respond, Jilly bounded up to their table. "Hey!" she said brightly. "How's the cottage? Settled in? I'm really, really sorry about the mix-up. You're going to get a delivery of fresh bread in the morning, my little apology." Her hands fluttered as she talked, emphasizing every other word; her green hair swayed against her forehead as she moved.

Draco glanced at Hermione, who nodded, then he pulled out a chair for Jilly. She sat without pausing in her babble. "I knew you'd end up here by the end of the night. Everyone does. The White Hart isn't much of a pub but it's all we have. Did you know that one out of five pubs in England is named The White Hart? I think that's right. I read it somewhere. It's because of King Richard. The second, that is. Local legend says he stopped at this very pub, but I don't think that's right. That would have been seven hundred years ago."

"It's possible," Hermione said when Jilly stopped for breath. "There are some that are even older."

Draco made a soft noise, stopping her before she could go on about history. She wrinkled her nose at him and sucked noisily at her beer instead. Draco turned to Jilly. "I ran into a couple of young men today and--"

"God, Freeze and Pats? What did they do now?" Jilly folded her arms on the table and laid her cheek on them. "I told him that if he got into trouble again, Dad was going to kick him out and then he'd never be able to get anywhere. It's that Pats that really causes all the problems. Don't let him put you off Freeze. He's really a good sort. _Brilliant_ with cars. He can fix anything with an engine, honestly."

"Geoffrey is your brother, then?" Draco asked.

"He told you his full name?" Jilly stared, her mouth open, showing the fillings in her molars. 

The shock had reduced her to one question, no rambling. Draco exchanged an amused look with Hermione. "He did," Draco said. "And he asked if he could see my car. It's vintage. He seemed very excited about the possibility. You said he's brilliant?"

"Oh, he is. He's amazing with cars. Loves 'em, can do anything. Sometimes I think all he has to do is _touch_ one and he can know what's wrong with it. I swear he wouldn't hurt your car at all, Mr Malfoy. If you're up for it, please let him have a look. I think he needs just a little push to really go for the advanced courses. Y'know, a little encouragement to get away from Pats and get started on the way to that shop he wants. Maybe if he can see a vintage car for himself, get some hands-on instead of just dreaming. Might be good for him."

Draco smiled. "That's a sterling recommendation. I told him that I'd leave a message at the hotel desk tomorrow. If you're working, could you take it for me?"

"I'll give it to him tonight!" Jilly beamed, her eyes bright behind her glasses. "Not working tomorrow, since I'm in rehearsals all day, but I'll get it to him, I promise. Here, here, write it down," she said. She dug a small, crumpled notebook out of her pocket.

Hermione passed a cheap, disposable pen across the table. "You mentioned rehearsals before, when we were checking in. I saw your recorder. Do you do historical music?"

"Yeah!" Jilly bounced in her seat. "The Holt and Heeth Medievalist Musicians. We actually cover all the way up through the sixteenth century, but the name was getting too long as it was. I only play the smaller recorders right now, but I'm working up to larger. There's a woman in Oxford who makes reproductions of authentic instruments and I'm saving to buy a _big_ one." She held both hands over her head to show the height she meant.

Draco passed the notebook back to her. He kept the pen, clicking the end of it absently. "You told us you believe in the ghost," he said.

Jilly didn't seem to notice the change in subject. "I knew it!" she cried, slapping one hand on the table with glee. "I knew you were here for that. Did you talk to Bets already?"

Hermione nodded. "Mrs Brimble, yes. We were hoping to talk with the pub landlord tonight but Eric there said he was gone."

"He won't be back for a few days. Off to London to see his mum." Jilly rocked in her seat, making the chair creak dangerously. "The full moon is next Wednesday and I'll be going out to try and catch a glimpse of her. You should come with me! Most of the tourist hunters are probably going to head for the old graveyard. Typical," she said as she shoved her glasses up her nose. "But I'm going out to Mill's Bridge. It's right on the edge of the village, maybe half a mile from your cottage."

Jilly spoke with confidence, enough that Hermione raised her brows at Draco. "What do you think? Worth a try?"

Draco finished off the last of the pretzels and settled back in his chair with his drink. "What harm could it do? Wouldn't mind seeing if we can find out the truth."


	7. 26 March 2013

Draco finished washing up after lunch and put the dishes into the plastic drainer by the small sink. "Granger," he called. "We'll need to stop by the market before we leave to get some more oil for the lamps. You read so late that we go through more than I thought." Hermione didn't respond and Draco leaned around the door frame. She wasn't in the sitting room.

Draco smiled to himself as he dried his hands on a towel embroidered with red and white poppies. She'd sneaked past him again. In the short time they'd been staying at the cottage, Hermione had developed an absolute passion for being out in the garden. She might be a bookish swot, as far as most people knew, but he knew there was a far different Hermione underneath. He'd met her again on this assignment. Still fond of her books and research and list-making, but if she could do that outdoors, she was thrilled. The holiday they'd taken to Paris had found them strolling along the river every evening and visiting a new park each day. Even in the cold, Hermione had glowed with pleasure.

He looked out the door to the garden and nodded with a grin when he saw her reading on the bench under the tree. On her back, with three pillows under her head to prop her up, she'd bent one leg up and rested the book against it. her other leg dangled off the bench, toes swinging through the grass. She looked so relaxed and peaceful that he didn't want to interrupt, but they'd made plans. Exploring the area and talking to the locals was more important to the case than letting her read.

"Granger," he said, crossing the garden. She was so involved in her reading that she didn't look up until his shadow fell over her book. Draco chuckled at her and held out a bookmark he'd taken from the table behind her. "Time to go. If we don't get there soon, it'll be closed."

Hermione shut her book and wriggled her feet into a pair of strappy leather sandals. "It doesn't close until eight, Malfoy. We'll have plenty of time."

"Then let's go before all the good parking spaces are gone. Althea said the paved area isn't very big. I don't want to leave my car in the grass." Draco put on his poshest accents, lifting his chin to look down his nose. "Don't make me park with the _peasants_. It's bad enough that I have no chauffeur."

Hermione smacked his arm with her book as she passed him. In the cottage, she stuffed the book in her bag and slung that over her shoulder as Draco checked his funds. He regularly exchanged his Ministry salary into Muggle money and had made certain he'd have plenty for this assignment, but he'd need to visit a cash point soon. Althea had told him that the merchants at the fair appreciated cash more than credit, often with discounts. He had no idea how much shopping they'd do but he knew it was a good possibility there would be plenty.

"Going to let me drive?" Hermione said, bouncing next to the car.

Draco snorted. "I've seen you drive," he said. "You don't recognize the concept of a speed limit. I'm not risking a run-in with the authorities."

She rolled her eyes at him and clambered into her seat as he started the car. "I'm not that bad."

Draco backed cautiously into the street after checking the directions Althea had given him. "You are _that_ bad," he said, glancing at Hermione. "We hired a car in Paris, if you'll remember. And you, Hermione Granger, managed to terrify Parisian drivers. Parisian _taxi_ drivers. They were lining the streets and praying for their lives as long as you were behind the wheel. I'm not going through that again."

Hermione made a face but settled back without further argument. The trip was short, though they had to wait once for a darkly-tanned man on an ancient tractor to clear the road. At the entrance gate of Tornhart Hall, a young woman in a jester's costume took their parking fee and gave them directions. They followed a gravel lane well into the estate, passing teenagers in fluorescent shirts who kept the traffic moving at a steady, if slow, pace. Near the front of the snaking line, when fluttering banners and striped tent tops were visible over a wooden palisade, Draco laughed as he spotted Pats in a furry tunic and boots. "What do you think, Granger?" he said. "Viking work for him?"

He slowed the car and Pats leaned down to the window. "Freeze said givya good spot. Th'car."

Even mumbled, it was more words at once than Draco had heard from Pats before and he had to blink for a moment. "Er. Thank you," he said when Hermione poked him in the side. 

Pats grunted and pointed the opposite direction from most of the traffic. "That way," he said. Private parking. Freeze don't want th'car fucked."

"Yes," Draco said, brows raised. "That would be uncomfortable, wouldn't it?"

Pats stared at him blankly; Hermione stifled a snort behind her hands. Draco waved merrily to Pats and drove forward. They ended up in a secluded parking area shaded by several large trees. Draco parked at the far end, stretching when he got out of the car. Hermione looked around, determined they were unobserved for the moment, and gestured Draco to duck around the side of the car. "Sunblock charm," she said, flourishing her wand. Draco hid a shiver as the magic washed over him and the warmth of the sun on his skin lessened.

He and Hermione followed a set of low signs along a path to a ticket booth. They joined the queue behind of a group of people in a variety of costumes. There was a trio of women in the heavy gowns of sixteenth-century nobles, with their face powdered white; a couple of men dressed as privateers, bearing letters of marque thrust through the sashes across their chests; a half-dozen people, including a woman, wearing the tunics of knights on Crusade; and a short man wearing translucent green wings and a long ribbon skirt. Draco couldn't tell if they were all separate parties or friends who couldn't agree on one cohesive theme. They all seemed to be talking together as the queue edged forward.

"We're underdressed," he murmured to Hermione. "We may be the only people here who are actually dressed as Muggles. Should have brought my robes."

Hermione snickered. "Do you even have any these days?" she asked, smiling up at him. "I noticed a few years ago that you stopped wearing robes to the office. Switched to Muggle suits."

"Less suspicious in my situation," he said. "Walking through London in robes draws rather unsavory attention. And as it turns out, Saville Row can do magic." Hermione lifted her brows and Draco laughed. "Where did you expect me to get my clothes? Harrods? Please, Granger. I haven't fallen that far."

Hermione pulled a face. "Most people don't consider that 'fallen', you know."

"Most people didn't have a personal tailor from the moment they were out of nappies." Draco shrugged. "But don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm pulling your leg. I shop Muggle anymore. Fortnum and Mason is rather nice. I like their hampers."

The queue moved forward before Hermione could speak again. The pack of Crusaders shuffled out of the way with some argument over who had forgotten the voucher for a group rate. Draco took their place at the counter. "Two," he said.

The black teenager behind the counter adjusted her pointed green cap and pulled two plastic bracelets off a strip. "For thee and thine lady," she said.

"Thy."

Draco flicked a glance at Hermione as he paid the admission. "What?"

"Thy. 'Thy lady'. Thine is a form like mine or yours. Not my or your."

The ticket girl showed Draco how to fasten the bracelets on, apparently ignoring Hermione. She had a slightly bored look on her face, and Draco assumed she'd heard the correction many times before. Either it didn't sink in or she didn't care. If this was just a job for her, likely the latter.

Draco stepped away from the counter. He had to take Hermione by the elbow to lead her out of the queue, as she was still lecturing on proper language use. "Save your breath," he said, leading her through a tall arch into the fair proper. "Plenty of walking to do and I'm sure you'll see--"

He stopped as he spotted a booth selling puppets in the shapes of magical creatures. Dragons, unicorns, and fairies lined the booth. Draco made a face at the dragon puppet nearest to him. "Hell," he muttered. "Who let this travesty in here? A Hungarian Horntail with Chinese Fireball coloring? Don't these people know anything?"

Hermione laughed and tugged him away from the booth. "They know it's make-believe," she said pointedly. "Now come on. Save your breath. Plenty of walking to do."

* * *

Hermione sucked the last drops of briny pickle juice off her fingers, grinning at the face Draco made. "It's delicious," she said. "You should have had one. I'm sure we can find that pickle seller again. She couldn't move very fast with that barrel."

He gave a delicate shudder and wrinkled up his nose. "I don't eat things on sticks. Or things cooked outside."

Hermione snorted. "That explains why you haven't had anything but a soft pretzel. You know it's not going to kill you to have something to eat here, right? I think the owners of the estate would have made certain no one would die on their property."

"I had a frozen ... thing. Lemony. While you were waiting for the loo. You were gone long enough that I thought about going back for a second."

"Ugh, I know. The costumes are beautiful, but I'm glad I don't have to wrestle in and out of them. I had to wait behind two women with the biggest skirts I've ever seen. Could have fit Madame Maxime _and_ a twin sister in there." Hermione dropped her empty pickle stick into a rubbish bin. The curving path that twined through the fair led past a variety of shops. Tents, booths, and stalls sold everything from leather book covers to blown-glass sculptures. Crossroads and offshoots of the path led to shaded benches or small stages for one or two performers. As they walked, they passed a stage with a woman who was painted in swirls of blue and green from her long braided hair to the gauze wings poking through her dress to the satin pointe slippers on her feet. Hermione watched a child run up to drop a coin in the basket by the stage. The woman rose up on her toes and did a pirouette, then posed with her arms outstretched as she sang a verse of something in a language Hermione didn't recognize.

She and Draco were supposed to be listening for any hints that could help with their assignment, under the thinking that a fair like this might attract a higher percentage of people who believed in ghosts, but that plan had fallen by the wayside early on. There had been too much to see and do. It was a small fair, it was wildly inaccurate, and it was ridiculously expensive to get anything to eat or drink, but Hermione didn't care. She'd been having fun, loads of fun, and even Draco had been smiling for most of the afternoon. Their assignment could wait one more day. Hermione didn't want to ruin what they had right then.

They made their way to a large stage set back in a grove of trees. The wooden sign in front of an arc of benches said they had ten minutes until Jilly's medieval group was to perform. Hermione started to pick a seat near the center of the benches for the best view, but realized Draco had gone on without her. He was around the side, at a bench that had a huge oak tree behind it. She followed him and gestured at the tree as she sat beside him. "Sunblock charm not working?" she asked quietly.

"It's fine." Draco rolled his shoulders and glanced up into the leaves overhead. "I don't like to sit where people can get behind me, especially in a crowd. And twice as much around Muggles."

Hermione hummed under her breath. She thought about it and realized she hadn't once seen Draco sit with his back exposed, not in a very long time. Even at the Ministry, in the time they'd worked together, she'd never seen him take a chair that wasn't against a wall. If he couldn't sit in a protected spot, he stood so he could move around. She supposed she couldn't blame him entirely. She understood what it was like to live a nervous life, and he had more reason than most. Being around Muggles had to make him uncomfortable.

"Speaking of Muggles. I wanted to say," she murmured, waving her hand to indicate the people around them, "that I think you're doing well. Better than I would have expected. Not just at this fair, either. The whole trip. Ever since we got to Faith-In-Hart, you've been doing really well around them. I thought you'd have cracked long before this. But it's as if you've been around them your entire life."

Draco leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. "I had to learn," he said. "I've lived in that world for fifteen years. The first few were rough. Having to make all those adjustments. Can't even tell you how many times I forgot to wait for the signal to cross the street or nearly had a heart attack when a phone rang. I still get anxious when someone has their telly up too loud, and I have to avoid electronics shops completely. But I eventually got used to it. Exposure therapy or some rubbish like that."

"So you're saying the infamous Draco Malfoy has decided Muggles aren't so bad?" she said with a tiny laugh. She was going to have to drop this moment into a Pensieve for Harry to view when they got back to London.

Draco shook his head. "Muggles aren't so bad," he said. "Most of them. Didn't care for those fellows who tried to rob me a few years ago but--"

"Wait, wait." Hermione turned to face him, one hand on his arm. "You got mugged? What did you do? You aren't allowed to Apparate. You didn't get in a fight, did you?"

Draco opened one eye and looked at her. After a long silence, his lips curled in a smile that didn't touch his eyes. "I ran, Granger. Traditional Malfoy tactic. Hauled arse and got the hell out. All they wanted was the money. Fortunately, I was carrying a great deal of it. I think their victory dance distracted them from chasing me."

Hermione knotted her brows at the flippant tone in Draco's voice, but she let it be. "I'm glad you were all right," she said.

"It was a long time ago. I don't go near that pub any more, though, just to be safe." 

Hermione made a face. She leaned back against the tree with him, close enough that their shoulders touched. People filed in to fill up the benches, bright costumes shining in the sunlight. She spotted a few people she recognized, residents of Faith-In-Hart, and lifted a hand in greeting when she got a wave from the clerk from the stationery shop. "If that was the worst of it," she said, "getting mugged once, just one bad run-in with Muggles in fifteen years? You're doing more than well. I'm serious, Draco," she said when he made a dismissive noise. "I don't think anyone would have believed you'd make it so long in Muggle areas. I know I didn't, not at first, but you.... You really...."

She looked at him, smiling. "I'm really proud of you."

Draco stirred. He opened his eyes and met her gaze. He looked as if he didn't believe what she'd just said, as if it was something he'd never heard anyone say to him before. She thought about his father, about the harsh, stern parenting of Lucius Malfoy, and realized it was entirely possible that Draco never had heard that in his life. She touched his arm and let her smile widen. "I am. I'm proud of you."

Draco turned his head away, shrugging one shoulder. "Like I said," he murmured. "I had to learn. Survival, you know."

Hermione watched as the musicians took the stage. Jilly waved at them with her recorder before taking her seat next to a man with a lute. The other musicians had a hurdy-gurdy, a tambourine, a hammered dulcimer, and a pair of small harps. One of the harpists stood at the front of the stage to introduce the group and explain their performance. Hermione tried to concentrate on the speech, but her mind was turning over what Draco had said.

Survival. He thought about his life as survival. "Was that all it was?" she asked quietly. She barely heard her own voice over the rising music and the roar of people at another stage out of view. "Was everything about survival?"

He didn't respond for long enough that she thought he might not have heard her, then he coughed. "No," he said. "Not all of it. At the beginning, yes, but after a while...." He shifted restlessly beside her and his voice dropped to a low rumble that made her heart pound faster. "Not that long ago, I found a reason to be happy."

Hermione looked sidelong at him. It was meant to be a quick glance, only a flick of her eyes to see his expression, but he was watching her. His gaze locked on hers and she couldn't look away. She didn't ask what he'd meant. She didn't have to; it was clear in his eyes. "You were happy," she whispered.

"I was." Draco's face softened. His eyes went dark and the point of his tongue drew across his bottom lip. His hand twitched, as if he'd stopped himself from reaching for her. After a moment, he took a deep breath and slowly turned away. "Happiest time of my life."

Hermione pressed her lips together and swallowed. She didn't know what to say to Draco. There was too much to say. She'd been happy, too. Unbelievably happy, more than she ever could have thought. Forcing herself not to think about him after their breakup had been one of the hardest things she'd had to do in her life.

She looked at the stage in efforts to turn her thoughts away from what had been. The music had changed. It was no longer a rollicking, almost dance-like beat. Now it was something slow and melancholy. The harpists began to sing a duet, a call and response that seemed to ache. The song spoke of love and sorrow and two people separated. A human woman and a fairy king, brought together and torn apart. The last verse was of the sea that took them both as they threw themselves into it for the sake of their love.

Hermione surreptitiously wiped a tear off her cheek as Jilly's recorder gave a low, mournful whistle. In the sweep of emotion, she thought, maybe. Maybe there was something she could say. She turned to Draco, her breath heavy in her lungs. "Draco, do you ever think--"

He wasn't there. The bench beside her was empty.

She spun around, spotting him at the back of the audience. He was leaning on one of the walls of the booth next to the path leading from the stage, his head bowed. As she watched, she saw him trace a shape on his left arm. Even at that distance, she could tell it was the sinuous outline of his Dark Mark. He dropped his hand and thumped his head on the wall behind him. His lips moved; she thought he was swearing.

Biting her lip, she turned back to the stage to allow him privacy. They both needed it at that moment. She let the sound of the music wash over her and push away her thoughts.


	8. 27 March 2013

Hermione hunched into her coat, grateful for the warming charms she'd put on it before she and Draco left the cottage to meet Jilly. She'd offered to do the same for him, but he'd waved her off, reminding her that Slytherins lived in the dungeons under the lake. Cold wasn't a problem for him.

It was for her. She blew on her fingers, chilled even through her leather gloves. Wrapping her arms around herself to tuck her hands under her biceps, she glared at Draco where he leaned against a low, rough stone wall. He looked perfectly at ease, almost comfortable. Black clothes and pale skin made him a study in contrasts, like the heavy moon against the sky. Even his hair was the color of the light that danced across the field they were watching.

Hermione made a face at herself and turned away before she could be tempted to burrow under his arm and pull his coat around her. There had been so many times when they'd curled up together, huddled under her blanket or wrapped in his cloak. She hadn't realized until then how much she'd missed the little, comforting things like that.

With a huff, she forced her thoughts away from what had been and concentrated on the job at hand. They were on assignment, on a case. She didn't need to think about anything but that.

Jilly, standing at the end of the bridge in a long patchwork cloak, lifted binoculars and peered across the field. After a minute, she slumped. Hermione shook her head, trying not to smile. Besides proving the merits of this case to Supervisor Elkins and making this trip less of a punishment for Draco, she wanted the ghost to be real for Jilly. The young woman had such enthusiasm that Hermione hoped, for her sake, that they found the ghost.

For more than an hour, the three of them did nothing but watch the field in silence. Every so often, Jilly peered through her binoculars. When it neared midnight, Jilly came over to stand by Hermione. "I have to go," she whispered, disappointment clear in her soft voice. "Have to get up early. No ghost for me tonight." She kicked at a loose rock and sighed. "Maybe next month. I'll see you two around."

Jilly left with a wave. Hermione made her way over to stand next to Draco. The wind was beginning to pick up and she unashamedly used his body to block the chill. For a moment, she wondered what she was doing. It wasn't the best idea, with her thoughts still in a muddle after the conversation they'd had at the festival - barely had, most of it interrupted by their own, separate thoughts - but right then she was too cold to care.

Draco looked at her, then gave a slow, almost tentative grin. "I know what you're doing," he said.

"Hush and turn so you're blocking more of it," she told him. He obeyed with a quiet laugh and Hermione jammed her hands deeper in her coat pockets. "Should have had an entire pot of tea before we left," she said. "Or brought a thermos with us. I could use something warm. I might spend the rest of the night in a hot bath."

Draco made a noise and shifted beside her, pulling his coat closed. "Don't put that image in my head. I'd like to sleep well tonight."

Hermione looked away, her cheeks warming. She knew what he was thinking. The trip to Paris, the huge bathtub, the mountain of bubbles. A bottle of wine and a hundred rose petals on the bed that stuck to their damp skin. They'd made love for hours, resting between rounds with their limbs tangled together.

The wind howled, pulling her out of memory, cutting sharp across her ears. She shivered. "There's nothing here," she said. "I'm going--"

Draco held up one hand. "Hush."

"Malfoy, it's cold."

"I said quiet, Granger." He tipped his head, turning his ear to the wind. "I thought I heard something."

Hermione thought it was likely an echo coming from the village, but she held still to listen. For several seconds, all she could hear was the cry of the wind, then a new sound threaded in. It was high and low at once; it was both a rumble and shriek. The hair on her arms rose and she stepped closer to Draco. Their arms touched.

He didn't pull away. In the moonlight, she could see that he'd closed his eyes. His face was tight, as blank as polished steel. "I hear her," he whispered, his lips barely moving. He clutched at the wall as if he needed to hold himself upright.

Hermione strained to catch what he was hearing. Draco's tension beside her was more unnerving than the odd sound in the wind. Before she could stop herself, she laid her hand atop his. Draco startled. His hand jerked and twitched under hers, then he turned it over and laced their fingers together. Hermione edged closer, pressing against him. The sound in the wind shifted and grew closer. Hermione swore she could hear words forming in the howl.

"Save," it seemed to whisper in a woman's cracked and broken voice. "Save.... Save us. Please."

Draco choked and shuddered. He yanked free of her, staggering back. Hermione whirled to look at him. His face was white and bloodless. Even the grey seemed to have drained from his eyes.

She reached for him. "Draco?"

She didn't have the chance to touch him. Draco spun and fled, running from the bridge, leaving her with the cry of the wind and the eerie, whispering sound. 

Hermione stood her ground, chin up and shoulders straight. Draco's sudden flight had her worried, and a little frightened, but she'd seen so much in her life that a simple noise wasn't going to scare her away. She stood, watching the field despite the chill crawling over her skin and the fear tugging at her spine. She'd been brutally tortured; she'd fought Voldemort. A whisper in the wind wouldn't chase her off.

The wind died and everything fell silent. The only sounds were her breathing and her pounding heart. She exhaled, and in the next moment, she heard a howl in the distance, a violent howl that made her jump.

Hermione glanced out at the field, trembling, then rushed from the bridge. She jogged back to the cottage, her fingers tight around her wand in her pocket. There was no sign of Draco in the cottage until she got upstairs. A thin, pale hint of light shone under his door. Hermione let herself slump against the wall in relief. She'd thought he might have left entirely, run into the darkness and abandoned her alone in Faith-In-Hart.

She raised her hand to knock, then the image of his face floated into her mind. The sheer terror that had been in his eyes left her shivering. She dropped her hand and went into her room. As she closed the door, she thought she heard the voice behind her, pleading with her. "Save us. Please."


	9. 28 March 2013

Hermione looked out of the cottage's open front door. In the tiny parking area, Draco stood next to one of the rough young men they'd encountered outside the stationery shop. Geoffrey, she remembered. The two men shook hands and Draco strolled back to the cottage as Geoffrey turned to the car.

Hermione examined Draco closely as he neared her. There were no traces of the night's events in his face, not even a hint of the fear he'd shown. His eyes were clear, his expression relaxed. "Morning, Granger," he said with a nod as he passed her. She followed him into the kitchen. "Another basket of bread came about an hour ago," he said. "Try the pumpernickel. It was delicious. Shame we don't have any of that marmalade you like but Mr Millburne said we can get some at the market if we go before noon. Apparently a fellow named Old Man Puckett makes all sort of jams and such and they sell out quick."

Hermione stared at Draco's back as he put a kettle on to boil. "I was planning to buy some good tea," he said over his shoulder, "but we won't be here long enough to make it worth it. This cheap stuff will do." He lifted a box from the counter and shook it, the bags inside rustling. "You want a cup?"

She looked at him, wide-eyed and confused, until he turned around and shook the box again. "Tea, Granger?"

"That's it?" She raked her fingers through her sleep-mussed hair. Draco's chatter was ridiculous. He wasn't good with mornings, she knew from long experience. She tapped her bare foot on the wooden floor. "That's it?" she asked again. "That's all you're going to do, make tea? We're not going to talk about last night at all? And what do you mean, 'we won't be here long enough'? We just got confirmation that we have a case!"

The kettle whistled and Draco turned to it. "There's nothing to talk about, that's why we won't be here long." He dropped tea bags into two mugs and poured in the hot water. He leaned against the counter, shrugging, and pulled the folded collar of his cabled jumper away from his throat. "There's nothing here. This assignment was a bust. Elkins got her little joke in, wasted my time. And yours," he added, hoisting his mug in her direction. "At least we'll have an amusing story to tell."

"Nothing to talk about? Nothing here? _Nothing_?" Hermione shoved her fists on her hips. "Draco Malfoy, what is going on? We were both out by that bridge last night. We both heard that voice. That wasn't my imagination and I know damn well it wasn't yours. You heard it first and it scared the hell out of you. What do you mean, _nothing_?"

Draco sipped his tea, looking at her steadily. His expression showed only mild interest in her words. "If you don't like pumpernickel, try the rye."

Hermione sputtered. Draco walked past her without another word, taking both mugs of tea with him. It took a moment for Hermione to collect herself and stalk after him, through the cottage and outside.

Geoffrey had the car's hood open and he was pointing to something in the engine. Draco handed him one of the mugs.

"Malfoy!" Hermione shouted from the door.

He ignored her. He turned his back to listen to Geoffrey and he blatantly ignored her. Hermione sucked in air, her skin flaring hot as her temper rose. For a moment, she was taken back to Hogwarts, to the day Draco had pushed her too far, riled her temper beyond any hope of rationality. She'd slapped him then. She was tempted to do it again.

She stormed over and grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn to her. She gripped the front of his jumper, the dark wool as soft as clouds in her fist. "That was not _nothing_ last night. We both know what happened and we _are_ going to talk about it. I'm not going to let you pretend nothing happened."

Geoffrey looked at them over the top of his mug. "Bird problems?" he said with a knowing nod at Draco. Hermione glared at him. He sniggered and turned back to the engine.

Draco stared at Hermione's hand until she released his jumper. He met her gaze, slowly, and this time there was sharp ice in his eyes. "Nothing happened," he said, voice flat and cold. "And there's nothing to talk about."

Hermione took a step back. She clenched her hands at her sides. Whatever was going on with Draco, she had no intention of backing down. If he thought she would let this go, he'd soon find out how wrong he was. She glared up at him. "There is. We will. Malfoy, you won't have one second of peace until we talk about this. I swear, Azkaban would be a paradise in comparison."

Draco hissed. His hand moved as if he wanted to go for his wand, but he stopped himself before he could complete the motion. Mentioning the prison had been a low blow, she knew, but it had worked. "No," Draco said again, but Hermione heard something else below the refusal. It was tiny, almost inaudible to anyone who didn't know Draco well. It was the smallest crack in his will.

Hermione stared at him, waiting. They stood like statues, no movement or sound around them except the clinks and rattles of Geoffrey at the car. 

Draco inhaled slowly. His shoulders dropped an inch. He looked away from her, a muscle in his cheek jumping. Hermione knew the twitch matched the rhythm of his heart, and she knew it meant she'd won. When he went into the cottage, she followed, and he held the door for her in surrender.

* * *

He was alone for a few minutes while Hermione made her tea. She joined him in the garden, on the bench below the tree. Draco sat, curled over, his elbows on his knees and his mug cradled in both hands. He stared into the mug, watching the steam rise in gentle swirls. When she approached, all he saw was her feet, bare with her toenails done in a pale shade of rose, the left littlest toe crooked from where she'd broken it as a child. She sat beside him and swung her legs, her heels brushing the grass. He heard her sipping her tea and he waited for her to finish. His shoulders tensed as he anticipated more shouting, more orders.

"The pumpernickel was good," she said instead, and Draco relaxed. He exhaled sharply and sat up, looking across the garden. This would go so much easier if she let him do it his own way, in his own time.

He finished his tea and put the mug on the ground before he spoke. "I heard her," he said quietly. "I did hear her. I wish I hadn't. If I ever prayed, I'd pray to never hear her again." He swallowed hard. "I've been hearing her for fifteen years."

Hermione went still beside him but she didn't speak. Draco kept his eyes on the climbing roses that decorated the cottage wall. "Near the end of the war, the Dark Lord used my family's house as headquarters. Before Potter came of age, we planned an attack. That night, the Dark Lord confiscated my father's wand, humiliated my family, and murdered a woman right in front of me."

His voice started to quiver and he took a deep breath to steady himself. It didn't work. He could hear that thin, cold laughter, smell the stench of a dozen Death Eaters pressed together and waiting, rank with blood and fear, for their master's attention to turn on them. He remembered keeping his eyes away from the corner where Nagini slithered and coiled, her long tongue tasting pain in the air.

Draco closed his eyes. "We were all gathered, all of the inner circle. Every Death Eater who wore the Mark. My father, my aunt. Professor Snape. And then there was the guest of honor. Charity Burbage."

Hermione sucked in a breath, but swallowed back her words. Draco could feel how difficult it was for her to stay quiet, and he appreciated her efforts more than he would ever be able to explain. Now that he was speaking of it, he couldn't stop, or he'd never be able to bring it up again. "Charity Burbage," he continued after a moment. "Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I never took her class, of course, but I knew of her. I knew what she'd taught and who she was. I'd seen her around the castle. And that night, I saw her in my home. She was hanging over the table, captured and trapped for the Dark Lord's amusement. She floated there, weeping, and when she looked at Professor Snape...."

His throat closed. He coughed to clear it, hoping the sound wasn't as close to a sob in Hermione's ears as it was to his. "She said, 'Severus, please'. The Dark Lord killed her and fed her to that fucking snake. It crushed her bones in its fangs and I heard her. Severus, please. Over and over. I've heard her pleading for fifteen years since, and last night I heard her again." He dropped his head, staring at the blades of grass between his feet. "But this time, you heard her too. There _is_ a ghost here, Hermione, and it's the ghost of a woman I watched die."

Hermione laid her hand on his arm. Her fingers wrapped too close to the remnants of the Dark Mark branded into his flesh, even through his jumper, and he pulled his arm back to remove her touch. She didn't reach for him again. "Draco," she murmured. "I can see how you'd be reminded of that, from what we heard last night. But it wasn't her. It couldn't have been her. I know it's unsettling, but--"

"It was her. That was Charity Burbage. Those were her last words, Granger, and she's been saying them since she died."

"What makes you so certain of that?"

Draco slowly turned his head to look at her. There was a touch of disbelief in her eyes, but for the most part, he saw nothing but concern. "You honestly don't know where we are?"

Her brows knotted. "The Cotswolds," she said with a soft lilt in her voice that showed she suspected she had the wrong answer, or at least not all of the right one. "Northern Wiltshire."

Draco shook his head. "You really didn't know. That's why I got put on this assignment. That's why Elkins thought it was such a laugh to give it to me. Most of the Auror Office thought it was a great lark, too." He laughed without sound, without humor. "We're in Wiltshire. Where I grew up."

Hermione froze. She stared at him, the color draining from her cheeks. Draco gestured over the garden, to the sloping hill and the stream. "It's that way," he said. "Go about a mile east, and you'll run straight into the wards surrounding Malfoy Manor."

* * *

When she'd talked to Mrs Brimble, the woman had assured Hermione that the north road out to the old watch tower was rarely busy and would leave her plenty of room for her daily run. That had turned out to be accurate, and Hermione had risen every morning around dawn to get her miles in. 

Now Hermione paced along the road, a mile up and a mile back, her second run of the day to keep her occupied as her mind whirled. After Draco's confession earlier that morning, she'd left him at the cottage. She'd told him to stay there, to keep an eye on his car and Geoffrey, to let her talk to the villagers that day. He'd taken the suggestion quickly, and with more than a hint of relief, leaving her relieved in turn that she didn't have to explain her reasons for wanting him to stay there.

She wanted to be alone. She _needed_ to be alone. The realization that they were only a mile from Malfoy's childhood home, the place where she'd been tortured, had shaken her down to her bones.

She'd had no idea. When she and the others were captured and taken to the house, identifying their location was the last thing on her mind. Really, she'd seen nothing of her surroundings except the gate, the tall hedges, and the white peacocks. She'd never have suspected, for even one second, that the grounds and the house were so close to this village. This _Muggle_ village. She shuddered at the thought. If the Death Eaters had taken it into their minds to go exploring, every resident of Faith-In-Hart might have died. Every building might be empty; the streets might be filled with lost and bewildered ghosts.

Hermione circled the crumbling tower and turned back toward the village for the fourth time. She was tempted, horribly tempted, to keep running until she was past the village and on the road to London. She thought she'd be able to run across the whole of the country if it meant being away from Malfoy Manor and those old memories.

But, as her feet pounded on the road, her thoughts started to shift. Maybe this was why she'd been so driven to claim this assignment, to take this case. Maybe it was why she'd needed to come here. Had she spotted something in the article or photo when this all began? Had there been a hint that she'd absorbed unconsciously when she read the paper? She didn't trust Divination, knew she wasn't a Seer, but maybe, just maybe, something had sparked in her mind.

By the fifth turn, the tenth mile, her lungs started to ache and her thighs were burning. Hermione eased to a jog and then a cooling walk. She looked east as though she could see the Manor from there. Maybe this was something she needed. The events that had happened that day - the torture, the fight - could still bring her awake some nights, sweating and crying. It was possible, if she went there, that she could lessen those memories. She could find some closure to that part of her life.

She pressed her knuckles into the small of her back as she walked. A visit there might help her. She was sure of it now. It might help Draco as well. They might be able to find something there to help put Charity Burbage to rest, if Draco was right. If the ghost, that broken voice in the wind, was really the former professor, they could potentially find a way to end the haunting and close the case.

Hermione slowed to a gentle stroll, ideas whirling through her mind. She'd need to focus her research, to narrow down the possibilities, but it might work. At the end of the road, she headed back to the village. She would talk to Draco and they'd go to the Manor. As she made her decision, her heart felt lighter and her mind felt clear. Hermione nodded to herself. She had a plan. It was just what they needed.


	10. 30 March 2013

"No." Draco's voice was hard, his eyes even harder as he stared at her across the table and the remnants of their lunch. Bread crumbs were all that were left of their sandwiches; a half-empty pot of tea rested on a trivet in the shape of an acorn. Draco crumpled his napkin and threw it onto his plate. "I can see why you wanted to wait until after we ate. Otherwise, you might never have lived to see your next meal."

"Draco, don't be melodramatic." Hermione rubbed her thumb over the curlicue engraving on the end of her spoon. "I don't have any good memories of the place, and I'm sure that whatever good memories you have were covered up by bad ones. But don't you see? That's the point. That's why I think we should go. It would be good for both of us. Plus any clues we could find to help us close this case. Put Charity to rest for good."

"You have _never_ got over your tendency to do what you think is best for people." Draco shoved out of his chair to pace around the sitting room. He drew his fingers along the top of the fireplace mantle and down the side of the window that overlooked the garden. "It's always irritated me. No matter what anyone else thinks, no matter what anyone else wants, there's Hermione Granger, ready to jump in with her _plans_. And if the world doesn't hop along with what she wants, she'll nag and complain. No one gets a second of rest until she gets what she wants."

"Draco--"

"No," he said, whipping around to glare at her. "Not this time. No fucking way. You can forget it, Granger. We're not going to the Manor. That is not going to happen. I haven't been there in years and I'll never go there again."

Hermione drummed her nails on the side of the tea pot. "The more you protest, the more I think it's a good idea."

"Of course you do."

"I'm telling you, this is something we should do. We both need to close out that chapter of our lives."

"Then you go right ahead. Go out there. Close your chapter. But you'll do it without me. I'm not going there. I can't." He stared out the window at the garden, his face distant. "I can't go back," he said, far more quietly.

Hermione looked at his back. "Draco. You can."

"I can't!" He braced his arms on the sides of the window and hung his head. "Granger, you're not understanding me. I _can't_ go back."

She crossed the room to stand beside him, craning to see his face. His jaw was taut and his cheeks were flushed a deep pink, but his eyes were still locked on the horizon. He looked as if he were watching the landscape for any hint of the Manor's presence - the tip of one of its pointed towers or a wisp of smoke from the chimneys. Hermione laid her hand on his shoulder. "Draco. I know you don't want to--"

He jerked away from her, knocking her hand free as he moved. "Don't you get it?" he snarled. "Do you really not get it? How can you call yourself brilliant? Don't want to? You're wrong. You are so fucking wrong. I want to go back. I want to go _home_. But I can't." He looked directly at her. The muscles around his eyes were tight and quivering; his lips were drawn back from his teeth. A cloud passed across the sun, dousing the room in a moment of shadow, and in the brief darkness, Draco's face looked like a skull. Hermione stepped back, fetching up against the windowsill, her hand pressed to her throat. Draco made a sound, a harsh mix of a growl and a groan. "I can't go home, Hermione. I'm not allowed!"

She stared at him, speechless and confused. Draco's shout had echoed in the cottage, filling up every inch of air. He ground his teeth and stepped away, hunching over the table. "I'm not allowed," he said again. "I want to go home. I want to go to the Manor. But this?" He pounded the table and gestured around the room, encompassing the whole village in the motion. "This is as far as I go. This is the end of my chain. I. Am not. Permitted. To set foot on the grounds of my own home. So your little plan, Granger? Shove it up your arse. It's not happening."

He stalked out. A minute later, the door of the cottage slammed. Hermione stared at the place where he'd been, then slowly turned to the window and to the distant, unseeable Manor. "Not allowed?" she whispered to herself. "Oh, Draco. No."

* * *

Harry tended to take long lunch hours, one of the few perks of being Head Auror that he claimed. Even on a Saturday, if he was in the office, and he usually was, he'd leave to take a walk. He would go somewhere in London, have a quiet meal by himself, and walk for an hour or two before returning to the office. A few times, early on, Hermione had gone with him, but he'd always seemed uncomfortable to have her there. Finally he'd told her, stammering and avoiding her eyes, that he wanted to be alone for those couple of hours. It was the time where he was just another person on the street, just another man wandering through the city. He wasn't Harry Potter, Chosen One; he was what he'd always wanted to be. Just Harry. She'd left him to his solitude after that.

Now, she silently apologized to him as she dug her mobile out of the bottom of her bag. She circled the garden while she waited for him to answer.

"Hermione?" His voice was crackling over the line. "Hold on, I'm too close to St. Mungo's. Interference, y'know how it is. Give me five minutes and I'll ring you back."

"No!" She clutched the mobile, pressing it to her cheek until she could feel each tiny button against her skin. "No, I'll stay on. I need to talk to you."

"Don't tell me you've killed Malfoy already. After how long you managed to date the man, I thought it would take more a week before you reached that point."

"Harry." Hermione slumped onto the bench and tucked her feet under the largest pillow. "Why can't Draco go to Malfoy Manor?"

For a moment, she only heard Harry's breathing and the slowly fading static as he walked out of the range of heavy magical use. "Hey," he said, "did I ever tell you what ringtone I set for you?"

"Harry."

"I started with Flight of the Bumblebee, because you were always flying all over the Ministry."

"Harry."

"Then I switched to Ride of the Valkyries. Seemed more appropriate."

"Harry."

"You're not blond, of course, but I thought any Valkyries would be thrilled to have you."

"Harry James Potter!"

The line went quiet. Hermione took the mobile from her ear and stared at the screen. It hadn't disconnected. She lifted it again. "Harry, answer me. Why can't Draco go to the Manor? We're practically next door to it here. Did you know that? He wants to go; you can see it in him. He wants to go so much, but he said he's not allowed. Explain!"

Harry sighed. "He's not." His voice came through clearly, if quiet. "He's not allowed to go back. The war trials.... Part of the punishments sent down by the Wizengamot included the confiscation of Malfoy Manor and all associated lands. It was forfeited to the Ministry because Voldemort used it as headquarters. None of them - Lucius, Narcissa, or Draco - were permitted to return."

"That wasn't voluntary. They had no choice. He'd have killed them and taken the house anyway, if they'd tried to refuse."

"I know. I made that point in the trials. It didn't matter. The house was confiscated and they're forbidden to go back. A thousand years, can you believe it? I can't even imagine that. The Malfoy family has owned that land for nearly a thousand years, and they can never see it again. If it weren't so ridiculous to feel sorry for a Death Eater, I'd feel sorry for them. Well, Draco, at least. Don't have to feel sorry for his parents since they're dead."

"What?" Hermione sat up, staring into empty air. She knew Lucius was dead, had died ten years previously, but Narcissa? "His mother? Wh-wh-when did she die? What happened?"

Harry exhaled noisily. She could picture him ruffling his fringe, pressing on the lightning scar on his forehead. "I don't know what happened," Harry said after a short silence. "It was last year some time. Autumn-ish? Draco was granted a week's leave to make all the arrangements. He only took two days of it. I don't even know if there was a funeral."

Hermione chewed on her knuckle. Autumn of the previous year. She recalled one week in particular, at the beginning of August. Draco had been withdrawn and moody, had disappeared for a couple of days without telling her where he was going or what he was doing. When he'd returned, with dark circles under his eyes, he'd refused to answer any of her questions. Despite herself, she'd wondered if he'd slipped into old habits, into Dark magics and terrible secrets. When she'd finally tried to ask him....

That had been the question that signaled the end of their relationship. That was when everything had gone wrong between them. She remembered all of it, every shout, every row. It made sense now. His mother's death. Once she'd passed, he was alone in the world. He had nothing left to tie him to anything he'd known.

"He has to go back," she whispered. "Harry, he has to go back. He _needs_ this."

"There's nothing I can do, Hermione. The decision had nothing to do with MLE, except to enforce the restriction."

"There must be something. A favor you can call in, or a debt someone owes you. You never ask for anything, Harry, and you know the Ministry and the Wizengamot would do anything for you. If you asked for Scotland on a platter, they'd immediately start making one big enough to carry it."

"And you know that's exactly why I wouldn't."

Hermione heard rustling, then the sound was muffled. She determined Harry had tucked his mobile against his shoulder, likely to clean his glasses. She waited for the sound from his end to clear. "There's more to it," she said. "Draco has identified the ghost. He says it's Charity Burbage. He says...." She exhaled shakily and forced herself not to dwell on the pain in Draco's voice or the tension in his body when he told her about those events. "He says she was killed at the Manor. That Nagini ate her."

Harry hummed. "Explains why no one ever found her. It's possible that it's her ghost. But that's still not enough reason to go to the Manor, Hermione. Sorry, but it's not. You're trained in dealing with spirits. Whether you put her to rest or get her to move on, that's up to you and Malfoy, but it's not enough reason to allow him to go to the Manor."

Hermione toyed with the fringe on the seam of one of the bench's many pillows, drawing it through her fingers over and over. "Harry, I--" She closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Above her, the leaves whispered in the gentle breeze. Birds called to each other; bees hummed around the flower beds. She focused on the soft, calming sounds of nature around her to keep from trembling. She took a deep breath and forced her words out. "I need to go. I need to go back, too. I need to look at it, Harry. To remember what happened to me there and show it that it didn't destroy me. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I need to stand there and tell that house and all those bad memories that they can fuck off. Because Malfoy Manor might have stood there for centuries, but it isn't stronger than me."

Harry gave a long, slow sigh. "It does sound ridiculous, but it also makes a little sense. Still--"

"Please." Hermione scraped her teeth across her lip and held the mobile cupped close to her mouth. "Please, Harry. I know I tell you to do things all the time and I give suggestions that turn out to be orders and everything like that, but this time.... This time, I'm not telling. I'm asking. As your best friend. As someone who _needs_ to do this. Don't do it for Draco or for this ghost. Please. Do this for me. Please help me."

Harry was silent. Hermione curled over and put her head against her upraised knees. She covered her mouth to keep out any sound, waiting for him to respond. She wouldn't ask him again. She wouldn't guilt him into it. She couldn't.

Harry made a resigned noise. "No promises," he muttered. "I won't be able to talk to anyone until Monday. But I'll see what I can do."


	11. 2 April 2013

Draco ordered himself not to charge along the old shepherd's path leading across the field, despite the insistent voice in the back of his mind telling him to hurry, hurry, hurry. Desperate and afraid all at once, he wanted to run onward and turn back at the same time. He forced his legs to work, to carry him further up the trail. 

Every few steps, he touched the left pocket of his coat, feeling for the heavy medallion that had arrived that afternoon in the sharp claws of a sparrowhawk. He didn't know what Hermione had done or how she had done it and he didn't care. Whatever favors she had called in or promises she had made were worth it. That medallion, however it had come about, was now the most precious possession he had. It gave him the right, for six hours - six long, eternal hours - to cross the boundary wards put in place by the Ministry and stand on the grounds of his estate. For six hours, he could go home.

He glanced back to see Hermione a few feet behind him. Her purple coat and gold scarf were the same colors as the sunset. She was looking at the landscape, tapping the end of her braid against her lips. When she caught his eyes, she hurried forward to walk beside him. "I keep trying to see the towers," she said. "Two of them, right?"

He nodded. "There were three, once. When Lucius - the first Lucius - was rejected for the final time by the first Queen Elizabeth, he went into a rage. Destroyed the north wing entirely, blew the tower completely off. Made the place a bit more symmetrical, so no one bothered to do repairs." He pointed ahead of them to where the path curved and dipped into a hollow. "Just there, there's a dry stream and a rock bridge. As soon as we cross that, we'll be on my lands. Once we get through the hedges, we'll be able to see the house, and then it's a stroll across the rear garden and inside. Sorry to take you in the back way, but cross-country was faster than the road."

"I understand. Faster's better." She gave him a hint of a smile. "I think I'd rather go this way in any case. I didn't particularly enjoy the last time I went through the front door."

Draco didn't respond with more than a nod. There wasn't much he could say. They both remembered that day. He'd watched her be tortured, listened to her screams. He remembered every second of it. As much as he could still hear Charity's pleas and the sickening crunch of her bones, he could still hear Hermione screaming. He had never mentioned it to her, even when she'd calmed him after he woke from a nightmare. He never would.

They crossed the rock bridge and passed through the wards. The medallion in his pocket warmed, sending out a chime to mark the beginning of his allotted six hours. The tall hedges that surrounded the estate and magically blocked it from Muggle view appeared before them. Draco's heart raced. He closed his eyes and touched the hedges, his fingers visibly trembling. The leaves parted in front of him with a rustle and he stepped through. Immediately, he turned to face the house. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, ready to see the towers of his home.

They weren't there.

Nothing was there.

Draco felt his heart stop. He stared at the open, empty space in the air where the building should have been standing. He couldn't speak; he couldn't breathe. The Manor was gone.

Hermione stopped beside him. She reached out, palm forward, as if she could feel something in the air. "Draco, you said we could see it. Are there more wards?"

He pulled in a great, sucking breath and he ran. He ran through the overgrown garden, over cracked and broken flagstones that had been a maintained path. A scent grew in his nose, something harsh and thick. It was a scent he couldn't fully identify until he topped the short rise where the house had been and he saw the ground. Every inch of earth that had once supported his house was dead. Blackened. Ashes marked the boundaries of the missing walls, with green grass beyond, but every place that had held stone and wood was burnt to the ground.

The smell of smoke still hung in the air. Wind had made tracks in the ashes, showing that it had been at least a couple of weeks since the house had burned, but Draco could still smell the smoke. It stuck in his throat and choked the breath from him.

Draco collapsed. His knees buckled and he fell, his hands landing in a pile of ash. It puffed up, drifting into his hair and on his clothes, filling his nostrils and stinging his eyes. He clutched at the dead ground and he rocked, back and forth on his hands and knees.

Hermione knelt beside him and put her arm over his shoulders. "Draco," she murmured. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." She clung to him, rocked with him, pressed her lips to his hair and wept with him. Draco leaned on her and gathered ashes into his palms. It was gone. Everything was gone.

* * *

He didn't know what happened after that horrific discovery. The only thing he knew, the only thing he remembered, was the feel of the ash between his fingers and the weight of the empty spot in his heart. Buried somewhere far inside him, hidden beneath a hundred mental shields, had been a tiny spark of hope that one day, when all of it was over, he would be able to go home. Deep within him, he'd clung to that faint spark. Now it was gone. Gone forever, with every stone, beam, and pane of a house that had stood for centuries. There was nothing left.

He didn't know how long he stayed in that lost, aching fugue, but when he came back to himself, he was in the cottage, moonlight filling his bedroom and spilling over Hermione's dark curls on the pillow beside him. Her hand was only an inch from his, fingers curled as though she'd been clinging to him through the night. There was no trace of ash or dirt on the bed or on their clothing and skin, and Draco realized she'd not only brought them back, she'd cleaned them up. She'd taken care of him, watched over him while he was disconnected from the world. Draco touched her cheek in silent appreciation.

She stirred, her lashes fluttering. "Draco?" She pushed up on her elbow and met his eyes. "You're awake. Oh, thank god." She touched his arm gently and her face softened with relief. "I actually wondered if you'd wake up at all. You were.... I've never seen anyone like that. I hope I never do again. Draco, I'm so sorry."

"Don't," he muttered. It hurt his throat to speak from having inhaled ash. He couldn't seem to find many words in any case. There was nothing he could say.

Hermione looked at him, her eyes filling with sympathy. She sat up and pushed her hair behind her shoulder. "All right. We don't need to talk about it. Only.... I want you to understand that I'm here for you. Whatever you need, Draco. Anything I can give you, I will."

She couldn't give him what he had lost, and Draco looked away from her. He stared out the window at the moon. No family, no home. He was completely alone. He thought he'd known what that felt like when he was sixteen and desperate to survive. Now, he wished he was back there. He'd had no idea how easy he'd had it then.

Hermione shifted to sit beside him. She tipped her head to his shoulder and took his hand. It seemed as though she could follow the path of his thoughts, because he shivered when she spoke. "You're not alone, Draco."

He shook his head. "I'm alone." He squeezed her hand to stop her from interrupting him. It was hard enough to speak. If he stopped, if he let himself think better of it, he'd never be able to get these words out, and they begged to be said. "I'm alone. Nothing left. No one left. I hate this feeling. I hate that I woke up. As soon as I saw what was left of the Manor, I stopped feeling anything. I'd like to go back to that. I'd rather feel nothing at all than feel like this. I don't think a Dementor's Kiss could make me feel any more empty." He bowed his head, staring at her fingers resting on his palm. Her skin was warm, the only warmth he could find then. Slowly, he wrapped both hands around her fingers. If he held on to her long enough, he thought, he might be able to absorb some of that warmth. If he drew some of her heat into himself, he might be able to forget about the cold inside him for a little while.

Hermione slipped her free arm around his back and sat with him. They watched the moon in silence, no sound except the slow whispers of their breathing. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and held his hand. It was more comfort than he'd had in longer than he could remember. When Hermione stirred, Draco tightened his grip on her hand. "Don't go," he said. He drew his fingers over her knuckles, tracing the shape of her fingers. He remembered the lines of her hands, the silk of her skin. He remembered the curves of her body. Everything about her, there beside him, warm and comforting and familiar - all of it, he remembered. He lifted her hand and touched it to his mouth, the pads of her fingers against his lips. "Don't go, Hermione. Don't leave me alone."

He felt her shiver. Her fingers moved to trace the shape of his mouth. "Draco," she murmured. "You're not alone."

He allowed her to contradict him. He needed the reassurance. He needed to hear her tell him that she was there, that she cared for him. Even if it was only for a few hours, even if they went back to arguing the next day, he needed to believe for a little while that he was wrong. "Don't leave me," he whispered. He dipped to kiss her head, lips moving in her hair. "Stay with me."

"Draco." Hermione lifted her head. His lips met the corner of her eye and the curve of her nose. She twisted, turning to touch her mouth to his. He kissed her, slow and gentle, more wariness in the motion than the first time they'd kissed. It had been under moonlight as well, on a cold night in autumn as they waited for a herd of centaurs to thunder past. Now he could hear the thunder again in his heart as his blood raced.

Hermione made a soft noise, barely more than a sound at all, and she broke the kiss. She met his eyes and scraped her teeth across her bottom lip. "This could be a huge mistake," she said, but she didn't pull away. She cupped his cheek and brushed her thumb across his mouth.

"I've made a lot of mistakes in my life," he said. He drew two fingers along her jawline and down the sweep of her throat. "But you were never a mistake."

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. The moonlight shimmered in her hair and made it shine in the shadows. Draco touched one of her curls, twisted it around his fingers, and leaned in close to whisper against her ear. "I need you with me tonight. Please. Please, even if it's a mistake. Please, Hermione. Be with me."

Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him. She stayed silent, watching him, then she slowly moved onto her knees. Without speaking, she straddled his thighs. She pushed her fingers through his hair and traced the curves of his ears, the angles of his cheeks, and the line of his jaw. She explored the shape of his face as if she were learning him all over again. Draco didn't move, hands lax on the bed beside him. He watched her eyes and waited for her. She knew what he needed to hear from her before he touched her.

Hermione cradled his cheeks and leaned forward to kiss him again. "Yes," she whispered. He shuddered beneath her; his hands snapped up to lock on her hips. She kissed across his mouth from corner to corner and rested her forehead against his. "Yes, Draco."

He let out a soft groan and Hermione moved to strip them both. Draco felt it took less than a heartbeat for them to stretch out on the bed beside each other, kissing slow, hands moving over bare flesh. Hermione stroked the planes of his chest and down. Her fingers danced over his stomach, lower and lower. Draco caressed her waist and the slope of her hip, letting his hand drift upward to her breasts. She gasped and pushed into his fingers when he found her nipples. They tightened under his touch, drawing into hard buds. 

It had been months since they had been together, but he hadn't forgotten what she liked. He palmed her breast, flicked his thumb over the firm peak, and swallowed back a moan when she sighed with pleasure. She threw one leg over his hip and wrapped her fingers around his cock to give him a slow stroke. Draco muffled a groan in her shoulder. She hadn't forgotten his preferences either.

He spread kisses over her body when she rolled to her back. He left a trail of kisses along her ribs, pressed kisses to the hollows of her collar bones, nibbled kisses around her breasts. He licked her nipples and drew each into his mouth in turn, rolling them over his tongue and teasing gently with the points of his teeth. Hermione whimpered and crooned to him, giving him the quiet vocalizations he'd always found so arousing from her. She wasn't afraid to guide him, wasn't ashamed to tell him what she needed. There was no guesswork involved in making love to her. There was only need and pleasure and exhausted satiation at the end.

She rubbed her thumb across the tip of his cock, swiping up the tiny droplets that were forming. She looked in his eyes as she sucked the fluid from her skin, and she smiled. He felt her thighs spreading, felt her take his hand to push it against her slicked folds. "Yes," she whispered again as he pushed one finger inside her to test her readiness. He added a second and her head fell back, exposing her throat. She hissed and rolled her hips. " _Yes_."

Her invitation, her demand, brought a shudder from him. He moved over her, weight balanced on his left forearm, and he reached between them to fit the head of his cock to her entrance. Hermione put her hands on his shoulders and nodded, the moonlight gleaming in her eyes. Draco slid into her, mouth falling open and head dropping to her throat. It always had shocked him for a moment, the wet heat inside her body, and he shivered as he adjusted to the sensations. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, one hand settling on his nape, the other clutching at the small of his back. She murmured his name and a low, breathy encouragement.

He swore quietly, the words smothered in her skin, and pushed up to his hands to look down at her. The acceptance and understanding in her eyes warmed him as much as his arousal. Bending to kiss her, to whisper his need and his thankfulness, he started to move.

It took them a minute to find their familiar rhythm, but when they hit it, it was as if they'd never stopped. Draco knew every angle, every motion that would please her and drive her over the peak. Hermione clutched his hips, her nails digging in his arse, and pulled him deeper on every thrust. When she came, it was as exhilarating as it had ever been to him. She tensed and shivered, a dark blush spreading across her chest and face. She opened her mouth soundlessly and her lashes fluttered as her eyes lost focus. Her body pulsed around him, clenching hard, squeezing around his cock. Her throat worked and her arms trembled. Her legs hit the bed with a thump. She collapsed, panting for breath, with her skin dappled with sweat.

Draco dropped to his elbows and took her hands. Gripping them tight, fingers laced together, he hung his head and drove into her. Hermione took each thrust easily, her body open for him. She spurred him on with whispers of need and want and passion. Draco's world narrowed to the harsh gasps of his breathing and the hot, slick connection of their bodies. His heart raced; his temperature flared. Hermione knew the signs as well as he did. She lifted her head to kiss him. "For me," she murmured.

Draco shuddered. His entire body went stiff, each muscle taut. He groaned, low and aching, as heat rolled over him and centered on his groin. He slammed deep and let go, coming with a grunt, a strangled, choked sound of release. He collapsed on her and struggled to breathe. Through the pounding of his blood and the wild blur in his mind, he felt her stroking his back. Slowly, he relaxed. His eyes closed as Hermione cradled his head to her shoulder.


	12. 3 April 2013

Hermione woke in Draco's bed without him. The sheets were cold and the room had been cleaned up. Sunlight coming through the window told her it was mid-morning. She grabbed a dressing gown from her room and hurried downstairs, tightening the sash in a bow as she checked the cottage for Draco. The car was outside, with Geoffrey poking at the engine. In the momentary burst of relief that Draco hadn't left the village, she almost missed Geoffrey's attempts at getting her attention. He waved a spanner in her direction and she finally looked at him. "He's gone down the high street," Geoffrey said. "Told me to tell you he went to the tea room for breakfast."

Hermione held her dressing gown closed at her throat, but it wasn't necessary to protect her modesty. Geoffrey's attention was only for the car, not for her state of undress. "Thanks," she said, aware he didn't hear her. Chuckling to herself, she went upstairs to shower and pick out her clothes for the day. She chose a long dress with a mock turtleneck collar to hid the pair of small, reddened bruises low on her throat. A concealing charm would have done the trick, but she admitted to herself that she didn't want to hide the marks entirely. She liked that she had traces of Draco left on her skin. She only wanted to avoid questions, not reminders.

She nodded to Geoffrey as she left. It was a beautiful morning, with bright sun warming the air and a scattering of fluffy white clouds dotting the sky.

As she passed the open door of the incense shop, she inhaled deeply, taking in the mixture of fragrances that filled the small building. A large incense stick, at least two feet long and thicker than her finger, rested in an ironwork holder just outside the door. The scent was unfamiliar to her, dark and heavy with hints of musk. She stepped closer and cupped her hands through the stream of white smoke, bringing it to her nose. Sandalwood and some kind of clove, with a touch of something that might be currants. She made a mental note to come back to the shop and ask the owners. It was an incense she wouldn't mind having for herself, and it held enough spice that Draco wouldn't object to it in the cottage.

Hermione walked on, strolling past the shops and houses toward the village green. It was a clean, fresh day, calm and lovely enough to nearly wipe away the memory of the previous evening's discovery.

She knew Draco would avoid discussing the destruction of Malfoy Manor. He never talked about any loss once the first pain of it had passed. He was an Occlumens, trained by Bellatrix Lestrange, and he was able to hide a great deal of himself behind thick mental walls. When they'd been together, it had been a source of deep satisfaction to her that he had been open to her. He hadn't compartmentalized himself around her. Not often, not until the end.

She didn't expect him to talk about the night before, either. He had needed her, and she'd helped him. It had been about comforting him, showing him a connection to life. To the knowledge that he wasn't alone then and that he didn't have to be. Anything beyond that....

She shook her head at herself. She didn't know. It wasn't a question she could answer easily. It might not be a question she could answer at all. The end of her relationship with Draco hadn't been the end of her feelings for him. Six months apart hadn't done much to lessen that either. She wouldn't have given in to his pleading the night before if she hadn't still cared about him. She'd forced herself not to examine those emotions during her involuntary sabbatical; she was being forced to examine them now. Spending so much time with Draco after their separation was stirring up thoughts she didn't quite know how to handle. Everything about this assignment, until they'd seen the ruins of the Manor, had been ... perfect, she admitted to herself. The work, the cozy village, the easy camaraderie they'd found again - it had all been what she might have dreamed, if she'd been willing to let herself dream. She didn't want to lose all of it again.

She spotted Draco's pale hair through the window of the tea room and stopped. Moving out of view, she gathered herself. A thought had emerged from the back of her mind. She didn't want to lose all of this, but more importantly, she didn't want to lose Draco. 

Hermione closed her eyes. She concentrated, trying to push that thought down where it had been. She didn't want to let it distract her and she knew how easily it could. There was too much to do, a case to solve, and she needed to focus on that. She couldn't let her emotions overrule her now, even if the very sight of Draco made her heart race.

She exhaled slowly, cleared her mind, and went to the tea room. The bell over the door jingled merrily when she entered. Draco didn't look up from the papers he was studying as she sat across from him. Upside down, with his messy handwriting, it was hard to tell, but she thought he had notes of the interviews they'd already conducted and the evidence they'd found.

"I'm more convinced than ever that it's Charity," he said, pushing a plate of scalloped biscuits toward her. "The, er. The fire. Would explain why she's only appeared here recently. Once the structure hosting a spirit has been removed, the spirit may move on, unless tied to a physical location by the intervention of a living wizard or witch and the application of binding spells."

Hermione gaped at him. She wasn't sure which surprised her more - that he'd brought up the fire at the Manor or that he'd quoted one of her own papers from an International Creatures Conference a few years previous. There had been less than a dozen people attending her presentation, but she'd left copies of her paper for anyone to take. She never would have suspected that he would have collected one, much less read it. That he had clearly memorized portions of it left her stunned and fighting a blush. Having her work appreciated always left her with a deep sense of pride, and having Draco appreciate her work left her with a sense of pleasure.

She cleared her throat and forced herself to focus. "The fire?"

At her question, Draco looked up. He blinked at her. "What about it?"

"We're going to discuss it?"

"No," he said firmly. "But we're going to acknowledge it. Bit ridiculous not to, when it's another key component of this case." He flipped a paper around to face her and pointed to a sketched map. "There's a ley line here. It leads between the Manor's site and a small ring of standing stones a few miles west. Charity could have followed it easily. This is the first settlement along that line. She would have been disoriented, and I know that she's not tied to the Manor, not by any binding, so she could have latched on to the first person she encountered after the fire. We need to do more interviews, identify who that first person was. You'll have to contact Potter and ask him when the Manor was destroyed."

He cut off when Miss Gibson brought over a fresh pot of tea with an extra cup for Hermione, her dark skin almost the color of the tea she poured for them. "Scones coming up in just a wink," she said. "And you'll be happy to know, Mr Malfoy, that we did manage to get in some apricot marmalade for you."

"It's for her," he said, nodding across the table at Hermione.

Miss Gibson smiled and brushed her hand over the tight, twisted locks of her greying hair. "Isn't that sweet of you?" she said with a pat to his shoulder. "Doing something so nice for your partner." She turned her smile on Hermione. "He's a good man, dear. Don't let him get away."

Hermione busied herself adding milk and cream to her cup in order to avoid answering. Miss Gibson laughed and went back to the counter. Hermione waited until Miss Gibson turned to deal with a customer at the counter, then drew her wand beneath the table and cast a quick charm to muffle their conversation and thwart potential eavesdroppers. Draco closed his eyes as the magic snapped into place around them, his hands flat on the table. Hermione saw the smallest hints of a shiver from him, and she knotted her brows, wondering why such a little spell had affected him so.

Draco gathered himself and opened his eyes. Shrugging, he gave a quick smile and self-deprecating laugh. "Don't suppose she'd still think I was a good man if she knew what I'd done in the past."

Hermione eyed him as she stirred her tea. "I don't know. That was a long time ago, and I think you've certainly done everything you can to make up for it since then. It's not as though you were all that evil back then, anyway. You were more afraid for your family than you were interested in Voldemort's rhetoric. You're a better man than you think. And, while I know you don't believe it, there are loads of people who think you _are_ a good man." Draco snorted. Hermione reached across the table to touch his wrist. "I'm not the only person who's forgiven you for what you did in the war, Draco. There are more people who understand your reasons and who have forgiven your actions than you think. In the end, you did the right thing."

Draco shook his head. "Maybe that's your interpretation. The prevailing opinion is that my parents and I turned traitor to the Dark Lord's cause only because we saw he was going to lose. We didn't do the right thing; we hopped brooms to the winning side. The Malfoys have a very long history of carrying cloaks for the victors, _whoever_ they happen to be."

He looked back to his notes, clearly finished with the topic. Hermione dipped a biscuit in her tea and watched him silently for a moment, then decided to let it go. That particular opinion did exist and those who held it weren't quiet about it, but it wasn't as prevalent as Draco thought. Unfortunately, like in so many things, the ones with the nastiest opinions were usually the loudest. Clearing her throat, she adjusted the clip holding her hair in a mass at the back of her head and returned to the conversation that Miss Gibson had interrupted. "Why should I ask Harry about the fire? What do you think he knows about it?"

Draco's face tightened. When he looked up, his expression was carefully controlled. "My family has owned that land for a thousand years," he said quietly. "We were granted possession of it by William the Conqueror. The house hasn't been there for that long, not all of it. But some parts have. Some of the inner rooms and a few of the cellars have been there for centuries upon centuries. It's stood through more damage than you can imagine. That little incident when you were there? That was hardly the first time a battle was fought within the walls. The house protects itself. The magic there is ancient. There are spells that we've forgotten, charms we don't even know. For a fire to take out the entire building? To actually burn the place, even the _stones_ to nothing but ash? That would take the concerted effort of multiple wizards, or a couple of very Dark ones. Strong, powerful wizards with one goal in mind. Destroy it deliberately."

Hermione circled her finger around the rim of her tea cup. Draco had a point and she wouldn't even try to deny it. There hadn't been so much as a pebble left of Malfoy Manor. She'd looked for over an hour while Draco sat in the grass, staring at nothing, lost in his mind. Even the cellars had been filled in and covered over with earth. The only evidence that any structure had ever stood on that site was Draco's knowledge of it. She was reminded of an ancient form of punishment, the obliteration of any trace of a person's name or existence. Statues broken, monuments defaced, carvings removed. It was as if someone had tried to do the same to Draco.

She scraped her teeth across her bottom lip and shook her head. "That doesn't explain why you think Harry would know anything about it. And don't you dare suggest that he had something to do with it. Harry wouldn't--"

"I wouldn't insult your precious wonder boy," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "We've had our problems in the past, but no. He's too damned upright and honest to have actually been involved. However. After the Manor was confiscated, wards were put in place by the Wizengamot. You felt them yourself just yesterday. I had to have that medallion in order to cross. If I set foot over the boundary without it, a dozen Aurors would have been there in a heartbeat. I doubt they went to all the effort of keying the wards specifically to me so that I am the only one who'd set off an alert, though it's possible. Those wards are designed to keep anyone out, Muggle or wizard. Rather than breaking through them, it's far more likely that someone or several someones took them down in order to do the damage. If the wards were broken without MLE's knowledge, they would have investigated, Potter would have known, and he would have told me before. We don't like each other, but I know he's not cruel enough to keep that to himself. However, if the wards were taken down deliberately, for whatever reason, he would have been told in order to save the department the effort of arresting me. I could easily see him keeping that information to himself, if he thought that whoever went there had a legitimate reason for going. Dark artifacts or whatever the hell. An afternoon jaunt to spit on my ancestors' portraits and have a picnic, for all I know."

"It's possible it was just an accident," Hermione said slowly.

Draco looked at her without speaking for several seconds, then wrapped his hands around his tea cup and shook his head. "I know you like to think the best of people. But I know the Ministry. Trust me. There's more to this. Loads more."

* * *

Draco went back to the cottage to check on Geoffrey and work on his notes. Hermione stayed in the tea room, thinking over what Draco had said. On the surface, it seemed preposterous. That any person - or several people - would deliberately work to destroy Malfoy Manor was an idea so ridiculous it should be discarded immediately. But the longer she thought about it, the more sense it made when she looked at it from Draco's point of view. She tried to see all sides of a situation when she could. She had the luxury of looking at them, most times, from the bright and honest side. Draco didn't.

For years, for practically his entire life, the Ministry of Magic, the government of the wizarding world, had been a source of friction for his family at the minimum. They'd raided his home on a regular basis, imprisoned his father, and put him through war trials, branding him a criminal despite the threats and coercion that had caused his actions. Now someone had burnt his house to the ground. From his perspective, it was logical to think the Ministry was involved.

She stared at the biscuit crumbs on her plate. From his perspective, yes, but from any other perspective, _any_ other, it was ridiculous. It sounded as though he believed there was a conspiracy against him. A cabal of Ministry officials, possibly working with high-level Wizengamot Elders who were.... What? Seeking revenge? She didn't see why anyone would spend that much effort on Draco. True, he had been a Death Eater, but he had been the youngest and weakest of them, the least to fear. There was no reason to attack him.

Hermione took the clips out of her hair and ran her fingers through her curls. It wasn't rational. In the overall picture, Draco had done very little for the Death Eaters. His assignment to assassinate Dumbledore had been a punishment for Lucius rather than any hope of glory for Draco. It had been a suicide mission, intended to get him killed and make his family suffer. In everything regarding his association with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Draco had been a bystander more than anything else. He'd done nothing that she could identify as reason to conspire against him.

She told herself that he was only being paranoid. Finding his house in ruins and ash had temporarily loosened his grip on reality. That was a perfectly reasonable explanation, and made far more sense than Draco's suggestions. Hermione clipped her hair back and poured herself a fresh tea. That was it. Draco was simply still reacting to the shock. He was looking for someone to blame. Once he settled and accepted what had happened, these ideas about deliberate plans would disappear.

Miss Gibson came to the table with a plate of chocolate and raspberry macaroons. "Mind if I join you? Otherwise I'll eat all of these myself," she said, waving her hand over the pastries.

Hermione nodded at the seat Draco had vacated earlier. "Do you make those here, Miss Gibson?"

"Call me Gwen. Miss Gibson is for the website, the brochures, and the tourists on mini-breaks." She sat, putting the plate in the center of the table, and groaned quietly. "Oh, that feels good. Don't ever let anyone tell you that doing work you love is easier on you. It's just as hard on the body. The difference is whether you're smiling when you limp home. I won't even tell you how much cocoa butter I go through. Ashy elbows are the worst."

Hermione laughed. "I thought you and your partner lived upstairs."

"We do. We don't have to limp very far, that's all." Gwen took one of the macaroons and bit into it, her dark eyes closing with pleasure. She hummed happily. "Delicious. To answer your question, no. We don't make these here. I'm rubbish at baking anything complicated and Edie keeps trying to put odd things in pastries. Granola bits and basil leaves, that sort of thing. I knew letting her go to that healthy living conference a few years ago was a terrible idea. We get the strangest magazines now." Chuckling to herself, she shrugged. "But what can you do with a woman you've lived with for thirty years? It took me long enough to train her not to leave her clothes on the floor. So to keep her happy, I eat a few leaves and twigs every now and again. Small price to pay for domestic harmony."

"You do seem very happy together. Thirty years? I can't imagine that. My parents were together for twenty." The mention of her parents made her throat tighten, even after so long. She took a macaroon and split it in half, eating the inside first.

When she looked up, Gwen was giving her a sad look. "Did they pass on? From your face, something happened to them."

Hermione licked the tip of her finger and swiped a few crumbs off her plate. "They moved to Australia," she said quietly. "Fifteen years ago. They got a divorce not long after." She'd checked up on them a few times after the end of the war. The way things had turned out for them still made her wonder if she'd made the right choice to alter their memories. It had kept them alive, but not happy. From what she'd managed to learn, they'd felt as though something was missing from their lives, something they didn't understand. Hermione regretted what she'd done, but she tried not to let herself think about it too much. Dwelling on the past didn't change it. Even a Time-Turner couldn't make a difference there.

She realized she'd been silent for too long and she gave Gwen a tight smile. "It's funny. Fifteen years, and I still think it's my fault."

"Every child believes that about their parents. My mum and dad were both in their eighties when they went and there are the occasional nights when I still wonder if there was anything else I could have done." Gwen sat back in her chair and twisted the beads of her long necklace around her fingers. After a moment, she shook her head and cleared her throat. "But enough gloomy talk, I think. Better topics. Tell me about your young man. Half the women in the village are already falling for him. Quite the charmer."

Hermione sputtered into her tea. "Draco? Oh. Oh, no. He's not.... He's not my man. We're not together. We only work together."

Gwen's brows were almost to her hairline. "Now that's hard to believe. From the way you two act around each other? Edie and I had a little bet going. I said you were lovers. She said you were mortal enemies. Don't tell me I'm wrong. I don't want to have to get a cat."

Hermione wiped her mouth and stared into her tea. "Depends on who you ask and when. When we were kids, definitely enemies. Several years ago, coworkers. Then after a few years, we made it to friends. A couple of years later, yes. Lovers. The past several months.... I'm not sure. Somewhere between coworkers and friends."

"Good thing you didn't go all the way back to enemies," Gwen said. "Sounds like it took some time to work up from that."

"It didn't take as long as I'd expected." Hermione cradled her tea cup between both hands, watching a bubble float across the surface to pop against the rim. "Draco was-- Well. He was an absolute little shit when we were young. Arrogant, angry, spoiled, prejudiced. Take your classic rich kid and turn him up a few notches."

"He did strike me as the posh sort. I'm no good with designers, but even I could tell everything he wears is bespoke. Not to mention that car that young Freeze wants to marry."

Hermione hummed and nodded. "When they invented the phrase 'money is no object', they meant Draco's family. And when he was young, he was sure to let everyone know. He was very clear about how he was better than me. Never failed to rub that in my face every chance he got. Then when we got older...." Hermione picked through her words carefully. She couldn't talk about Voldemort, the Death Eaters, or the war. She wasn't certain why she was explaining at all, except that it was nice to talk to someone who hadn't been involved, even peripherally. 

"Things got bad for him in our late teens. His father had been in with some nasty people in the past and the same situation came around again. This time, his dad got caught. Went to prison. Draco had to take up the sword, as it were. It nearly killed him. It was a miracle that he came out the other side, and when he did, he was different. I'd never say humble," she added with a quick laugh, "but _changed_. That's for certain. It was as if most of the bad traits got burned out of him. He turned out to be a decent man. And yes, very charming when he wants to be."

"And a _fit_ one," Gwen said. "I'll admit it, I've stared at that one's arse. Don't mind telling you, if I were twenty years younger and attracted to men?" She whistled.

Hermione snickered. "I never thought he was my type. Too refined for me, in a way. I liked my dates with a little less polish."

"Bit of rough?" Gwen waggled her brows, eyes sparkling, as she refilled their tea cups. "I could tell you tales about my uni years and this one girl from Manchester. Practiced yoga. Very bendy."

Hermione stirred milk and sugar into her tea, shaking her head. "Not quite, but something like that. I did find him attractive, but I never took that very seriously. Then, after we'd worked together for a few years, after we'd spent some time getting to know each other all over again, we...." She bit her lip and shrugged, a pale blush spreading over her cheeks. "It's terrible to say, but it was like one of those cheap romance films. We were on field assignment one night and I was freezing. He gave me his coat, we stood close together, and that's how it happened. I'm not positive, but there may have been swelling orchestral music in the background."

Gwen laughed, almost cackling. "Then the kiss and a dramatic fade to black? I love those films. You know you're going to get a happy ending, no matter what obstacles you have to cross. What happened between you two? Why didn't you get the fairy tale and the magic castle?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but no words came out. She dropped her eyes. "I don't know," she muttered. There were reasons. Far too many than she could explain to someone who didn't know the slightest thing about magic. More than she could really explain to herself. "It wasn't his fault. Several things piled up at once. But I was never unhappy with him." Even as she said it, she realized how true it was. The problems that had led to their breakup hadn't been about each other. It had been everything else around them, at the time.

"I didn't think so." Gwen spoke quietly. She glanced over her shoulder as the bell above the door jingled and a group of women with shopping bags entered. Gwen pushed to her feet and patted Hermione's shoulder. "I see the way he looks at you and the way you look at him. When you each think the other isn't watching? That's when you should be looking the hardest." She smiled kindly and went to the counter for her customers. Hermione watched her go, lip caught in her teeth, then stared at the last macaroon and stuffed it in her mouth.


	13. 3 April 2013

Draco drew a line under the last of his notes and looked at Mrs Brimble. "Six months, right? The first hints of the ghost were about six months ago. Was there anyone unusual in the village about that time?"

"Unusual, dear?" Mrs Brimble looked over the tops of her square glasses before turning her attention to her embroidery. "You'll have to be more specific. We have a few odd ducks around here."

"Odder than an odd duck. Someone who-who--" Draco tried to think of how the most conservative, insular wizards he knew might act when surrounded by Muggles. "Who acted like the simplest things were wild and terrifying. Flipping out around cars or electricity. Dressing like a judge who'd had a fight with a paint factory. Talking about owls. Anything like that?"

Mrs Brimble finished stitching a feather onto the dark fabric in her embroidery hoop. "No, no one like that. Other than the people who have come in because they want to find our ghost, we haven't really had anyone new in the village in years."

Draco hid a sigh and closed the pocket-sized leather portfolio that held his notepad and his collected notes. This interview had been a waste of time and a personal disappointment as well. He'd hoped to find a clue that wizards had come to Faith-In-Hart, some hint that his suspicions about the fire at the Manor were correct. So far, he had nothing. Everything pointed to him and Hermione being the only magical people to set foot in the village in years. He stood and nodded to Mrs Brimble. "Thanks for your time."

"Never a problem, dear. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help. You've talked to Jilly and Gwen and Edie, right? What about Stan?"

Draco shook his head. "Crowden? He was out of town the last few days."

"I heard he was back this morning. You should talk to him. He's rather rough around the edges, but he's such a dear. Goes to visit his mum once a month, just like clockwork. He took over the White Hart about five years ago, and he seems to know everything about everyone already. Not surprising since that's the only pub in the village, though. Everyone ends up there eventually."

Draco took his leave of Mrs Brimble and crossed the central green. He spotted Pats, Mr Millburne's uncommunicative friend, shuffling along in his heavy coat. Pats looked around and ducked into the narrow lane between two buildings. Draco shook his head, hoping he'd never looked that shifty when he was trying to sneak around Hogwarts to the Room of Requirement. No one had ever caught him at it, at least, so he must have been less obvious. Disillusionment charms had helped a great deal.

He put Pats out of his mind as he made his way to the pub. The front door was locked, but he heard the tinkle and rattle of glass, very faint, from behind the large building. He walked down the narrow service path at the side of the pub to the small paved delivery area at the rear. "Mr Crowden?" he called.

A flicker in the corner of his vision turned him around. He peered into the shadows behind the rubbish bins, then decided the sound had likely been a rat. Nothing else moved and he shrugged as he turned to the windows that looked into the kitchen. The glass was coated with grease, smoke, and other unsavory substances, and Draco kept well away even as he cupped his hands around his eyes in efforts to look inside. "Mr Crowden? I'd like to talk to you," he called again.

He tested the door next to the windows. It swung open, showing a dark corridor with two doors leading off it, one to the kitchen on the left and one to the right, and the main room of the pub visible at the end. The corridor was lit only by one light in the main pub. Draco stepped inside, holding the door open to the outside with one foot. "Mr Crowden?"

He heard no response, and decided to go back to the cottage to try again some other time. Before he could turn around, he heard a faint sound from behind the door to the right of the corridor. Draco held his breath and listened, straining for a repeat of the noise. It came again, just as faint as before. It sounded like the groan of someone in pain.

Draco's nerves prickled in warning a second before a gust of wind blew the door shut behind him, shoving him into the darkness of the corridor. He whipped around, but no amount of rattling would open it again. The faint groan came one more time, then twisted into a harsh laugh. The hair on Draco's nape and arms stood up when he felt a wash of magic flow across his skin.

In the shadows, a thin shape appeared as the charm hiding it was removed. "Young Malfoy," said a voice. Draco slammed his shoulders against the door, heart pounding. It wasn't possible. He knew that shape, that voice. It should be _impossible_. The harsh laugh came again and Draco froze in place, his hand locked around the door latch. 

"Nephew." Footsteps moved forward and a slender hand reached out, knotted fingers curled like claws. Draco fought with himself not to cry out as Rabastan Lestrange came into view, smiling. "Or is it nephew-in-law? Why be formal? Draco. What a happy reunion this is."

"Stay back." Draco heard the tremble in his voice, the crack in his words as his throat went dry.

"Or what?" Rabastan put one hand against the door, trapping Draco into the corner. "You'll call on your father? Oh, he's dead, isn't he? And your mother. You're the last one. The last weak, useless traitor. You survived. Not a surprise, really. You were always good at crawling under the table and hiding whenever things got a little rough. No devotion, no loyalty. Anything to survive."

Rabastan put his free hand on Draco's shoulder, thumb pressing into the hollow of his collar bone. The sharp tip of his thumbnail pierced through Draco's shirt and scraped at his skin. Despite himself, a soft whimper escaped Draco's throat. Rabastan smiled, teeth showing like points. "This reminds me of the first time my brother and I met you, after our escape. Going to piss yourself this time like the scared boy you were?" He squeezed Draco's shoulder, digging into the flesh. "Nice that you came to find me. Saved me a little work, and that's something I like, with all the work I've had to do to get you here. I did hear there might be some trouble, but it all worked out in the end, didn't it? Very nice. Did you like the present I left for you? You should have seen it. Fiendfyre creates such beautiful flames."

He drew his wand and pushed it against Draco's throat, hard into the hollow beneath his jaw. All Draco could manage was a shiver. He was certain he was only a minute from death. Rabastan leaned in close, their cheeks nearly brushing, and Draco closed his eyes, waiting for Rabastan to rip out his throat. Rabastan took a deep breath, a long snuffling inhale, then went still. "What's this?" he said. He straightened up and gripped Draco's hair to pull his head back. "Perfume. Either you've picked up a new hobby since I last saw you, or you've taken that curly-haired bitch into your bed again. That makes this even better."

He shoved Draco against the door and grinned. "I was planning to kill you slowly, nephew. To make you suffer for your weakling, cowardly, turncoat ways, but I've had a change of heart. Bring the woman to me, and I'll kill you quickly. Make me come after you, and I'll kill you so very slowly. _After_ I'm done with her. You've watched her suffer before, haven't you? Bella told me how much fun that was. Care to have another go?" He patted Draco's cheek, almost gently, then flicked his wand and cut a furrow along Draco's jaw, thin and sharp as a razor's slice.

"Thirty-six hours," he said, fading back into the shadows of the corridor. "I'll give you that long to bring her to me. You have until midnight tomorrow before I hunt you down and slaughter you, traitor."

He disappeared. The door unlocked, swinging open, dumping Draco onto the pavement outside. Draco scrambled to his feet and ran, his hand pressed over the bleeding cut on his jaw.

* * *

The sun was nearly down when Hermione saw Draco outside the cottage gate. Her heart pounded for a moment, the hours-long mixture of fear and anger settling into a relief tempered with frustration. She'd been unable to find him, to contact him in any way that wouldn't draw unwelcome Muggle attention, and she'd been worried since leaving the tea room. Other than Mrs Brimble and a few of the other vendors in the market, no one had seen him since earlier that day. Hermione jammed her fists on her hips and glared at him as he fumbled with the latch and shut the gate behind him. "Where have you been? You've been gone for hours! I've been worried sick! Did you want me to spend the rest of the night shouting at you because--"

As he approached, she saw the gash on his jaw, the blood dried and flaking on his pale skin. She gasped and reached for his chin. He pushed her hand away and shouldered past her into the cottage, his face set in hard lines. "We're leaving."

Hermione stared after him. He went straight up the stairs without another word or a look back. Her mouth fell open. It took her nearly a minute to shake herself into motion and run up the stairs. Her bedroom door stood open; Draco was in the room, throwing her clothes into her trunk.

"Malfoy!" Hermione jumped forward and snatched a dress out of Draco's hands. "What is wrong with you? _What_ is going on?"

"We're leaving," he said again. "We're not staying another minute. I've thought through every option and there's nothing I can do. There's no way around it. We're getting out of here. Tonight. _Now_." He took a jumper from the wardrobe and dropped it in the trunk.

Hermione yanked all the clothes from the trunk, dumped them on the bed, and spun around to grab Draco's hands before he could pull anything else from the wardrobe. "Stop. Stop!" She hauled at his hands, tugging him to face her. "Explain. Explain to me right now, Draco Malfoy."

"I can't."

"You can't or you won't? Because when you say you can't, it means you don't want to. Not today. Talk to me."

Draco went still, staring at her hands locked on his. "I can't explain. We have to leave. Case is over. Someone else can handle it. Someone else can deal with this." His voice went raw and hoarse. He looked away from her, blinking rapidly. "I can wait," he muttered to himself, as if he'd forgotten she was standing there, gripping his hands. "Not worth the risk. I can wait."

The muscle in his cheek was fluttering madly and his lashes quivered. Tight, deep furrows had appeared to bracket his mouth. He looked like he'd aged twenty years in the few hours he'd been missing. Hermione shifted one hand to his wrist and felt his pulse. It was as fast as a trapped bird. Hermione put her hand on his chest, over his heart. "Draco," she said quietly. Now that she was taking a good look at him, all of her anger had disappeared. Whatever had happened, it had terrified him, even more than hearing Charity's ghostly voice in the wind or seeing the Manor burnt to ashes. Something here had frightened him down to his bones. She couldn't think of anything in the village that might have done it. "We're not going anywhere until you give me an explanation. Talk to me. I can't help you if I don't know what's--"

"Rabastan." Draco's voice was a breath away from a sob. He sank onto the foot of her bed and put his face in his hands. "It was Rabastan."

"Rab-- Wait. Rabastan Lestrange?" Hermione stared at him, at his fingers trembling over his eyes, and tried to find the pieces of the puzzle in his words and actions. She didn't have enough information. She needed more than just a name. 

After the last battle of the war, the final battle at Hogwarts, there had been a handful of Voldemort's forces who had escaped. They were mostly lower level fighters and supporters, of little importance and not worth the effort of tracking down, but a couple of the high-ranking Death Eaters had never been found. One of those was Rabastan Lestrange, who had managed to slip away unnoticed. Bellatrix and Rodolphus both died in the battle; Rabastan disappeared without a trace. 

Hermione dropped onto the bed beside Draco, staring blindly at the messy trunk in the middle of the floor. "Rabastan Lestrange. Draco, what are you saying? You found some hint of him? A clue?" She dropped her hand onto his thigh and squeezed. "But that's great! The Ministry will be thrilled. We have to investigate further, not leave!"

"Not a clue." Draco fell backwards into the pile of clothes and stared at the ceiling. His hands dropped limp at his sides; he barely breathed. "Not a clue, not a hint, not evidence. Him. I found _him_. He's here, Granger. We have to get out now."

"He's _here_? In the village?" Hermione shot up from the bed, thrusting her hand into her pocket for her wand. "Get up! We're going after him!"

"Gryffindors." Draco sounded resigned, and he didn't move.

"Don't give me that. You could have captured him! We could have brought him in! MLE's been looking for him for fifteen years! Dammit, Malfoy, did you just let him run off without a word? Decided to do the same yourself? Run away and let him do god only knows what to the Muggles here? What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking, for several hours, that there was not one fucking thing I could do about him other than get you-- _us_ to safety. Get the hell away from here and let someone deal with this who's trained for it."

"And by the time they get here? He's already gone! Or he's killed half the Muggles in the village!" She tossed up both hands in frustration, a spark coming off her wand to sizzle against the ceiling. "Why didn't you do anything?"

"Because I couldn't. I told you, there's not a thing I could do. I had two options: hope he didn't kill me and get the hell away from here. The first was a success. You're delaying the second."

"There is so much wrong with that I can't even begin to--" Hermione let out a tiny shriek. "You could have--"

"When is the last time you saw me use magic, Granger?"

Hermione stopped dead at the question. It didn't have any relation to the topic and she furrowed her brows as she glared at Draco. "I don't see what--"

"Answer me. When is the last time you saw me use a wand? A spell? Even a basic child's charm?" Draco slowly sat up and looked at her, raising one brow. "Well?"

Hermione dove into her memory. "There was that time in Paris...."

"The water glasses? That was you."

"There was the--"

"Also you."

"Surely I've seen you do something at the Ministry."

"Not once." Draco shook his head. He leaned against the post at the corner of the bed and folded his arms over his chest. "You haven't seen me use magic at all. We're getting out of here and we're sending in someone who can take over. We're going to call this a failure, I'm going to lose my chance at my hearing, and yes, in all likelihood, someone's going to get hurt. But I don't have a choice in the matter. That is why I didn't do one damned thing about Rabastan Lestrange. There is _nothing_ I can do."

She stared at him, mouth hanging open, wand dangling at her side. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Draco glanced at her, then away. "If I tell you, will you promise to leave with me?"

"No." The answer was instant. Hermione didn't have to think about that for one moment. She wasn't going to run off while there was a Death Eater loose. After the first rush of her heart, the need to take action immediately, she was able to calm down enough to know that they had to have a plan. Draco clearly had information that would be crucial to it, and she was willing to listen to him for it. But she wasn't going to run off. Not when there were others at risk. The Muggles of Faith-In-Hart would have no chance at defending themselves from a Dark, vicious wizard like Rabastan Lestrange. "Tell me the truth," she said, "and I won't object to you leaving. But I'm not going anywhere."

Draco sighed. He rubbed his eyes and when he took his hands away, his face had settled into a blank, stoic expression. "Seal the doors and ward the cottage," he said. "I'll put on tea. This may take a while to tell you."


	14. 3 April 2013

Draco refused to speak until Hermione had done what he'd said and shielded the cottage from potential attack. He didn't believe that Rabastan would break the deadline he'd been given - Rabastan would want him to panic and worry. Stretching the fear out over the thirty remaining hours would be far more fun to the fugitive Death Eater. Draco still insisted that the cottage be as well protected as possible.

Hermione cast a series of spells that seemed comfortable and familiar to her. Her movements were elegant and smooth, well-practiced in every sweep of her wand. When she finished and sat next to him on the sofa in front of the fireplace, he didn't have to ask about the spell work. Hermione flicked her wand at the hearth and started a fire. "It's funny how easily things can come back to you. The last year of the war, Harry, Ron, and I were hunting for Voldemort's Horcruxes. I spent a lot of time protecting our campsites. Never thought I'd need those spells again, but it's like I cast them yesterday."

"We wondered where you'd gone," Draco murmured. "The Dark Lord would talk about that from time to time. I'll assume the days he went into a rage were after you'd found one."

Hermione gave a nod and curled her legs beneath herself, smoothing the long skirt of her dress over her shins. Draco handed her a cup and watched the flames dance in the fireplace as he sipped his tea. He wasn't entirely certain where to begin with everything he should tell her. She answered the question for him by clearing her throat. "You're not allowed to use Floo, Portkey, Apparition, or a broomstick. And I've been thinking about it and you're right. I haven't seen you use a wand in ages. I don't think I've even seen your wand itself in years. Where is it?"

Draco gave a short, unamused laugh. "In a secure vault in the deepest tunnel in Gringotts bank. The only person allowed to access that vault is the Head Auror, currently one Harry James Potter. There's a key locked in his desk. Providing me with a wand or access to a wand is a criminal offense."

"That's-that. That's barbaric." Hermione sounded horrified.

Draco glanced at her. Her entire face was wrinkled with disgust, nostrils flared and lips pressed tightly together. He shook his head. "I'm a convicted Death Eater, Hermione. The only reason I wasn't sent to Azkaban was that I'd been under the age of majority when I committed most of my crimes. I was granted leniency on that count, but I was given a fairly heavy sentence in lieu of prison time. The restrictions on how I can travel are actually the least of it."

Hermione took a deep breath, set her cup on the small table next to the sofa, and folded her hands together atop her knee. "Tell me. Tell me everything."

Draco stared into the fire and gathered himself. His words were slow and quiet as he forced himself to bring up fifteen years worth of frustrations. He told her about the trials after the war, including the secluded, private sessions attended only by the top Wizengamot members. About his confessions and their accusations, about his fear that nothing he did or he said would be enough to keep him out of a lifelong prison term. About his near-orgasmic relief when he learned he would not go to Azkaban. He took a scroll case from the floor beside the sofa and opened it, showing her the thick roll of parchments inside. "All the conditions and rules of my so-called freedom. Right here. And if I break a single one of them, that's it for me."

Hermione watched him as he spoke, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. When he showed her the scroll case, she recoiled and looked away. "There must be some explanation."

"There is. I'm the last one, and I am the one they used to set an example. The only one, Hermione. I was the only captured Death Eater who wasn't sent off. As Potter reminds me every so often, I got lucky."

"Harry wouldn't," she said, her hands tightening around her knee.

"I don't think he says it to be cruel." Draco leaned back in the sofa, keeping his eyes on the fire. "I really don't. He honestly does believe that I'm lucky, and he's not wrong. Even without the Dementors there, Azkaban would have been a death sentence for me. Insanity runs in the Black bloodline as it is. I imagine it wouldn't have taken more than fifteen, twenty years for me to bite through my own wrists."

Hermione shuddered. "Don't," she said, extending one hand but withdrawing before she could touch him. "Please, don't."

Draco set his empty cup aside and toyed absently with the sleeve covering the faded scar in his left arm. "There was talk about exiling me to the Muggle world entirely, stripping me of my magic, but no one could figure out how to do it without killing me in the process. They did the next best thing, to them. I'm forbidden to use a wand, forbidden to cast so much as the smallest charm. In a way, it's even more of a torture than sending me away would have been. I'm surrounded by magic every day. It's to the point where I can feel it on my skin when a spell is cast. It's like standing in the ocean, and being completely engulfed in water, except I can feel every single drop. The only relief I get is when I go home at night. It's the only benefit to living in a Muggle building, arguing neighbors and all. At least I can't feel what I'm not allowed to have."

"But you work in the Ministry. In the Department of Magical Creatures. I don't understand."

"Ah, I thought that was a particularly fiendish bit of the sentencing. I'm required to maintain employment with the Ministry, so that I can contribute to the rebuilding of a society I was helping to destroy. The extra fun, though?" Draco coughed and shifted his voice to a higher pitch, with a nasal tone. "Since he enjoyed working with snakes, rats, and werewolves during the war, he can work with them after. Do something nice for him." He shook his head and his voice dropped to his regular speech. "Bastard. Whichever of them said that could have made a good career in my master's forces."

Hermione made a quiet, unnerving sound and stood to pace the sitting area. Draco watched her from under his lashes. The firelight reflected off her hair and the curves of her shins. It reminded him of the holiday he'd spent with her in Paris. They hadn't gone more than a couple of hours at a time without touching each other, and one night they had made love on the floor in front of a massive fireplace. Hermione had ridden him, her head thrown back and the light of the flames dancing over her skin. It was one of his most precious memories, one that helped him to sleep almost every night.

She stopped pacing and turned to face him. "I was wrong," she said. " _This_ is barbaric. They're treating you like a criminal."

"I am." Draco held out his left arm and pulled up his sleeve to expose the remnants of the Dark Mark. "I'm a criminal, Hermione. I'm a Death Eater. There's no getting around that, no way to avoid it. I was tried, convicted, and sentenced. Ask most of the witches and wizards in Britain. So I'm not allowed to cast so much as a Shield charm even if I'm under attack? Worth it, as long as it means I don't have a weapon of my own. So I'll be under arrest if I Apparate ten inches out of the way of a falling rock? Worth it. So I'm followed to see if I go near Dark shops or Dark wizards? Worth it. Because I'm a Death Eater, and it's worth all of it in the Wizengamot's eyes to ensure I don't try to resurrect my master and take over the world with him." He shook the scroll case, rattling the parchments inside. "They keep me under lock and key so they can show me off in case anyone else thinks of trying again. Here's what we do to to that sort, and he's the one who was shown _mercy_."

He flung the case down. It burst open, rolls of parchment spilling across the floor. "This is why we're getting out of here. Someone else is going to have to deal with this because I can't. There's not a damned thing I can do. Half the Wizengamot would likely be thrilled if Rabastan killed me. One more criminal they don't have to think about any longer."

"Let's get one thing straight here. You are _not_ a criminal." Hermione stepped between his knees and leaned over him, both hands on the sofa on either side of his shoulders. Startled, Draco pressed his spine against the back of the sofa. Hermione looked directly into his eyes. "You were a Death Eater, and you committed crimes as such, but you are not a criminal. Even then, it was never because you wanted it. You were forced into it. Your life was threatened; your family was threatened. You had terrible options and you made bad choices, but that doesn't make you a bad _person_. You're not evil, Draco. You're well down in the score and it may look like you can't do anything but lose, but you still have a chance to grab the Snitch and win the match. It isn't over."

She was nose to nose with him and Draco took a firm grip on the sofa to keep from reaching for her. He had always liked her best when she was full of passion. Her knees brushed his thighs, her breath was warm against his mouth, and her eyes were sparking and bright. It took everything he had not to drag her down for a wild kiss. It was the worst time to be attracted to her again. He tipped his head back to gain a little more space, eyes closed to avoid the fire in her expression. "Sport metaphors," he mumbled. "You really have to find a flat of your own. Potter's corrupting you."

"Deflection and jokes aren't going to work this time, Malfoy. You might not believe in yourself but I do. And I guarantee you, I _swear_ to it, once this is done, there are going to be some changes made. No one deserves to be treated like this." She pushed away from him and returned to her pacing. "Is there anything else? Any other pertinent details you haven't told me? You said before that it wasn't worth it to stay and that you could wait. What was that about?"

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and kept his eyes shut to stop himself from watching her move. The distraction was welcome to him but the look on her face told him that she was creating one of her infamous plans. If she caught him giving less than his full attention, he might wish he'd stayed with Rabastan. "Elkins gave me this assignment as a sick joke of her own. She sent me here so I'd be a mile away from my house, just to amuse herself. But I talked to Potter before I left. He knows this assignment is shit, but if I pull it off within all my restrictions? No spells cast, no Muggles annoyed, nothing that breaks any of my rules?" He kicked the scroll case on the floor and leaned forward, hands dangling between his knees. "If I pulled it off, he was going to speak on my behalf before the Wizengamot and get my sentence reduced. My hearing is next month. But going up against Rabastan without magic? I'd be killed in a heartbeat. It's not worth it. I'm not that desperate to get out from under the Wizengamot's thumb. I can wait three years for the next hearing."

"No. You won't. We're going to take care of everything. We're going to solve this case, just as planned, and we're going to go one better. Not only are we going to deal with the ghost, we're going to capture Rabastan Lestrange."

"You're mad."

"I'm confident." Hermione whipped around to glare at him, her hands on her hips and one foot tapping slowly. "You're going to walk into the Ministry with a fugitive Death Eater in tow, and you're going to walk out of there completely free. Not with a reduced sentence. With no restrictions at all." She dropped onto the sofa beside him, snapped her wand, and Summoned a notepad. "We'll have to work around the rules for now."

"Are you sure you're Hermione Granger?" Draco glanced at her, a brow raised. "Work around the rules? What happened to law and justice and all that rubbish?"

"Rules and laws are meant to protect the people, not to punish them. Justice can be used to fight injustice. You might not be allowed to cast a spell, but I can, and as long as I'm here to do the magic, then we'll.... Dammit, we'll make some magic." She drew a line down the center of a piece of paper and flicked her fingers at Draco. "More tea. No, coffee. We'll need caffeine for this. And those leftover scones."

Somewhat bewildered as to how he'd lost control of the conversation, Draco stared at Hermione as she bent over her notepad and started writing. He should have known, he thought with a slight, rueful smile. Give Hermione Granger the chance to make a plan, possibly right what she considered to be a wrong, and she was the happiest woman on earth. He doubted that they'd be able to do anything about Rabastan, and he still wanted to get away as fast as the car would drive, but if anyone could make a go of it, Hermione would. 

She looked up from her notes and made a face at him. "Coffee!" she demanded. "Hop to it, Malfoy. There's a lot of work to do."

Holding both hands up in surrender, Draco went into the kitchen to start the coffee brewing. He knew better than to argue with her when she was like this. They still had over a day to work. He'd let her take care of anything she wanted, make any plans she needed, but if they didn't have it ready by sundown the next day, he was throwing her in the car and taking off. That was _his_ plan.

* * *

Hermione worked on her notes for most of the night, making plans and backup plans. Shortly after midnight, Draco fell asleep, stretched out across the sofa. Hermione covered him with a blanket and gently healed the cut on his jaw with a light charm. She'd healed the scrapes in his hands after bringing him back from the Manor, and no Aurors had arrived or trouble had come up. Using magic on Draco wasn't against his rules; using it himself seemed to be the issue. That he'd kept all of it, the restrictions and rules, to himself for fifteen years was something she found hard to believe. Draco had a tendency to hide within himself and block off painful emotions, but it was a far different thing for him to keep quiet on something this big. To stay silent on it for so long made her wonder what threats had been made to him if he talked, and that thought made her gut tighten with anger. How could the Ministry call itself any better than Voldemort if they kept even one person under constant fear? She was determined to correct this, not just for Draco. For anyone who might displease the Ministry in the future. There was no place for these sort of tyrannical acts in the world she'd fought so hard to protect.

By morning, she had most of her plan together. She and Draco went to the incense shop, the florist, the chemist, and the indoor market, collecting supplies she could brew in basic potions and turn into charmed objects. They avoided walking anywhere near the pub, just to be cautious, and she refused to let Draco out of her sight. He protested, but it was weakly done and she ignored it. If there was a chance of Rabastan attacking, she was going to be there to prevent it.

They were on their way back to the cottage when they saw Jilly coming toward them, her green hair sticking up in messy clumps. "Mr Malfoy!" she cried, running forward with both hands out. "Have you seen Freeze?"

Draco stopped with a confused glance at Hermione and shook his head. "Not today."

Jilly squeaked and bounced on her toes. She snatched her glasses off, gesturing wildly with them. "Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure? When was the last time you saw him?"

Draco rubbed his forehead. "I saw him yesterday. Yesterday morning, yes. That was the last time I saw him. Spotted his friend in the afternoon, but Mr Millburne himself?" Draco shrugged one shoulder. "No, not since the morning."

Jilly squeaked again. She looked back to the cottage, then up the street, rocking back and forth as she twisted her fingers around each other. "Oh, oh no," she muttered. "No, no. That means no one's seen him since then."

"Wait, Jilly," Hermione said. She put her hand on Jilly's shoulder. "Are you saying he didn't come home last night?"

"No!" Jilly shoved her glasses into place and rubbed her fist against her nose. "And it's not like him. It's not like him in the slightest, Miss Granger. He _always_ rings me or leaves a message at the hotel desk for me if he's going to be late. Dad probably wouldn't notice if neither of us ever came home for the night, but Freeze knows I worry. He wouldn't take off without letting me know that he wouldn't be home." She grabbed Hermione's arm and shook it hard. "Don't tell me he went off and got himself in some kind of trouble with Pats! I'll kill him myself if he did, I swear."

Hermione looked over Jilly's head at Draco, who gave a solemn nod. She didn't have to ask what he was thinking. It was clear in his expression and she was suspecting the same thing as well. The disappearance of the young man came too close on the heels of Rabastan's reappearance. Anyone in the village would have known that Geoffrey had been tinkering with Draco's car since their arrival. Hermione slipped one arm around Jilly's shoulders. "Why don't you come to the cottage with us? We'll see if he left a note for you there, and then you can head home to check that you didn't miss any messages. I'm sure it's just a mistake."

Draco moved ahead of them and, once past the gate, he went to the car. Jilly ran over with him, giving Hermione time to remove the charm that locked the cottage door. "His tools," Jilly said. "They're still here. That means he wouldn't have gone far, right? Right, Mr Malfoy? He wouldn't have left without his tools."

Draco palmed something from the interior of the car, sliding it into his back pocket. He gave a tight smile to Jilly. "No, he wouldn't have. Quite right." 

It took some effort to get Jilly to go home to wait for Geoffrey to ring her, but she seemed to respond to confidence. Hermione spoke firmly, talking the young woman into returning home. Eventually, Jilly nodded and agreed to go, though she insisted on waiting at the hotel because she said her brother would first look for her there. A hidden Calming charm helped her along, even if Hermione felt a slight guilt about using one on an unknowing Muggle. After closing the door of the cottage, Hermione joined Draco in the sitting room. "What is it?" she asked quietly.

Draco took a torn scrap of parchment out of his pocket. "It was on the steering wheel. Sticking charm."

Hermione's throat tightened. Rabastan. She took the parchment from Draco and smoothed it on the table. It was blank on both sides and she stared up at Draco in confusion. "There's nothing on it."

Draco closed his eyes. "Not at the moment. Fuck, I hate this part." Before Hermione could speak, Draco went into the kitchen. He returned with a knife from the wooden block on the counter and sliced it across the heel of his palm. Hissing with pain, he held his hand over the parchment to spill several drops of blood on it. 

As soon as he pulled away, Hermione grabbed at his fingers. "What are you _doing_?" He pushed her back and she huffed, grabbing at his hand again, wrinkling her nose at him when he held it out of her reach. 

Draco nodded over her shoulder. "Little trick in our brotherhood," he murmured. 

Hermione glanced at the parchment and stifled a noise of surprise. The drops of blood soaked into the parchment, stretching out into lines instead of small rings and smudges. Words had appeared, in a brilliant red that darkened while she watched. She bent over the parchment to read it as Draco wrapped a kitchen flannel around his hand.

_Nephew, a word of warning. Bringing reinforcements along to our little rendezvous? Bad idea. Since I don't doubt that you've already run crying behind someone else's skirts, I've taken a little insurance. If anyone other than you and your bitch show up to the meeting, I'll kill the boy first. And it'll be messy._


	15. 4 April 2013

Tea wasn't going to be enough, but it was all they had. As much as he'd like a brandy, perhaps a whole bottle of it and the oldest he could buy, going to the pub wasn't an option. Draco stirred extra sugar into his cup with unnecessary vigor, gesturing helplessly at Hermione when she joined him in the sitting room. "Now what?"

"Now I adjust my plans." Hermione quickly twisted her hair into a thick and sloppy braid. She fastened the end with an elastic before drawing her wand and taking Draco's hand to heal the cut he'd made. He let his fingers settle into a relaxed curl in her gentle grip. Watching her work, the complete focus in her eyes and the confidence in her steady movements, had always enthralled him. Even the furrow of irritation in her brow wasn't enough to distract him, until she spoke. "What is it with you people and blood magic?" she muttered, glancing up at him from under her lashes. "You all have some strange obsession with it."

"Death Eaters or purebloods?" he asked as he took his hand back and carefully stretched his thumb to work the muscles. "Not that it matters. We're a strange bunch either way. The obsession with breeding is a long one. Gives some ... unfortunate results. The Blacks all go insane eventually. Malfoys are inclined to suicide. I won't even talk about the Lestrange family quirks. Not surprising that we all tend to end up the way we do. You had to be at least a little crazy to think the Dark Lord had good ideas."

Hermione grumbled into her tea and rolled her eyes. "I think anyone who lived through the war ended up a little crazy. Even the alleged good guys."

There was more anger in her voice than his cut hand warranted. Draco watched her for a moment, then set his curiosity aside. "We shouldn't have sent Jilly home by herself. What if she doesn't make it?"

Hermione glanced at the door and cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing a pale pink. "I, er. I put a tracking charm on her before she left. I'll know if she's forced to go anywhere. It won't happen," she added quickly, "but if it does, we'll find out where Rabastan is hiding Geoffrey."

"Devious. I approve." Draco prodded at his hand to admire her work for a moment before finishing his tea. "On the other hand, that's two different spells you've cast on the same Muggle in less than an hour. And Potter was warning _me_ about interfering with them. What were you going to do if she caught you at it? Obliviate her? Petrify her and stuff her in the wardrobe until we dealt with Rabastan? Might have been a bit awkward if we never made it back."

"That didn't happen, so I don't have to worry about it. And don't talk so negatively. We'll be successful. Even if you did fail to tell me something." She shifted on the sofa, turning to face him, and looked at him down the length of her nose. "When, precisely, were you going to mention that Rabastan had ordered you to bring me along to a meeting?"

Draco made a face at the bottom of his empty cup. "I wasn't. That's why I was going to get us out of here without telling you anything about it."

"Draco, I have to have all the information available to make proper plans." She brushed a loose curl out of her eyes. "Actually, that simplifies one of my ideas a great deal. Now you don't have to have an excuse for why I'm there. He'll be pleased with himself for getting you to bow to his demands. Easier for me to lure him in, then."

Draco tossed his empty cup on the table and scrambled to sit upright. His heart was pounding at the thought, every drop of blood in him burning. In the back of his mind, a dark voice was growling. He couldn't allow her to do this. She was too important. Far too important to him. The thought, the fully formed confession to himself, made his voice shake. "No. _No_ , Hermione. Lure him? If you think I'm going to let you use yourself as bait, I'll--"

"What? What do you think you can do?" Hermione lifted her chin to glare at him. "You can't stop me. Try it, and I'll stuff _you_ in a wardrobe and I'll go alone. I'm going to go anyway. Better to have a plan for both of us. That way nobody except Rabastan gets surprised."

Draco stared at her for several moments in silence, his fingers twitching against his leg. She'd do it. If he tried to stop her, she would stop him. There wasn't much he could do beyond physically restrain her, and that was a step he wasn't willing to take. At length, he slumped and shook his head. "I was right. You did go crazy after the war."

"Crazy doesn't mean stupid," she said with a soft laugh. "Though if I went over the edge, it was during the war. I did a few things then that would have qualified as both. Taking Polyjuice Potion and transforming myself into Bellatrix wasn't exactly smart, especially considering I ended up on your drawing room floor."

Draco tipped his head back and closed his eyes. "Definitely crazy. You managed to piss off almost everyone in my family that day."

"I have a habit of upsetting your family. Maybe it's your noses. All those points."

Draco snorted. He slouched in the sofa and stretched his legs out, crossing his legs at the ankles. "That is a remarkable understatement. And no matter what we tried, you kept coming back. Must be that heroism streak of yours." He lifted his hand in a mocking salute to himself. "I was the one who finally managed to make you leave. Who knew all it would take was--" He cut himself off, grinding his teeth together to keep more words back.

Hermione sat up. "What?" she asked quietly. She reached for him, drew back, and stretched her hand out again. Draco watched her from the corner of his eye, tensing when she touched his shoulder. She slid her hand down his arm to let it settle in the crook of his elbow, just above the faded brand of the Dark Mark under his sleeve. "What were you going to say?"

"It's nothing," Draco said in a soft voice. "It doesn't matter. Not something I can change."

"Haven't you learned that you can't get me to give up by telling me to? That's not going to work, Draco. You always give in. Fighting it just makes it worse." She gripped his arm, squeezing gently. When Draco fully opened his eyes and looked at her, she had her lip caught between her teeth. Her eyes were wide open, pupils dilated. She leaned forward, as if bracing herself against a wind. Draco glanced down at her hand, seeing the tension in her fingers. "Tell me," she said, voice low and intense.

Draco met her eyes. He swallowed, moistening his throat against words he'd never said to her even when they were together. Now was the completely wrong moment to say them, but if they were going up against Rabastan, he might not get a second chance. "I finally managed to chase you off," he murmured. "And all I had to do was fall in love with you."

* * *

Hermione's fingers tightened on Draco's arm. She stared at him, not moving, not blinking. His words reverberated in her head, rolling around and around like a storm. They were burning into her memory, something that would never escape her. She'd imagined hearing him say that before, but nothing compared to how it actually sounded. How it felt, deep inside her, to have him admit he'd been in love with her. There wasn't a poem or song ever written that could express the sudden rush of her heart and the heat in her body.

She slowly pulled her hand away from his arm and ran her fingers down the length of her braid. She didn't know how to respond; there wasn't anything in her experience that met up with this moment. When Ron had confessed to her, years before, it had felt like the click of a key in a lock. Secure, but also trapped. Here, with Draco, it was like the ride on the back of the dragon as they'd escaped the vaults of Gringotts bank. Wild freedom and exhilaration screaming along her skin. Hermione stared at the floor, at the tea cup Draco had dropped, then bent to pick it up and put it out of the way. "God," she muttered. "You have the worst timing."

"I know." Draco shrugged and wriggled into the corner of the sofa, folding his arms over his chest. "With a deadline breathing down our necks, that's when I tell you I'm in love with you. I'm very skilled at picking the right moment."

Hermione watched him as she tapped the end of her braid against her lips. She'd caught his phrasing. "Was or am?" she asked quietly. Draco turned his head. Hermione saw the faintest tinge of pink spreading across his cheek. "Draco," she said. She edged closer to him. "Draco. You were in love with me or you _are_ in love with me?"

"Does it matter?" he asked. The blush spread further over his skin. She could see it on the back of his neck between his hairline and his collar. Draco brushed his fringe from his eyes and looked away from her. "What does it matter? We broke up months ago. We're not together now. One night of comfort sex? Nothing. There's no change to our relationship. We're still just Ministry colleagues. Nothing's going to change for you so you don't have to worry about taking another sabbatical or whatever."

"It matters." Hermione tentatively reached for him, not fully certain of what she was doing. She traced the shell of his ear with one finger, following the delicate curve down to slip along the line of his jaw. Draco closed his eyes, but couldn't hide the shiver her touch brought. Deliberately, she let the tip of her nail drift down his throat to find a spot she remembered. When she brushed over it, Draco jerked, his chest heaving as he sucked in a breath.

"Don't," he whispered. "Hermione, don't. Don't tease if you're not willing to follow through."

His voice was strained, thick as if he had to force each word out. Hermione drew her arm back to lock her hands together in her lap. "I'm sorry," she said. He was right. It wasn't fair to either of them. Testing him, pushing him, was a game they'd both enjoyed in the past. She'd loved seeing how far she could go before he'd snap and drag her to him for a kiss. Now, it would be too close to cruelty, especially when she wasn't sure if she could stop. He might think their night together put no change toward their relationship, but she knew that it had. What she didn't know was how.

She pulled the elastic off her braid and tugged it between her fingers, stretching it as far as it would go. "I can't believe you," she said. "Now? You picked _now_ to tell me something that matters so much. To tell me for the first time that you loved me. And you won't tell me if it was love or still is love and this is all such a mess. Draco, I--"

"Still." Draco stood. He went to the fireplace and leaned on the mantle. "Yes. Still. I'm still in love with you."

Hermione stared at his back. She twisted the elastic in her fingers, trying to put her thoughts in order. It was impossible. All she could hear in her head was Draco's confession. It rang like a crystal glass, clear and pure. She wanted to hear him say it again and again. "But," she murmured, "why now? Why are you telling me now? You had so many chances."

Draco sighed. "I'm not very good at taking chances when they're offered to me. It's always too late by the time I make a decision. This time...." He put both hands on the mantle and pressed hard, the sharp blades of his shoulders pushing through his shirt. He ducked his head. "This wasn't something I could put off until later, until a better moment. There might not be a better moment. Because if Rabastan kills me, I wanted you to know before I never had another chance to tell you."

Hermione thought of all the things she hadn't wanted to confront in the past few days, all the thoughts she'd decided to put off, to worry about at some vague 'later'. Maybe Draco had the right of it. Later might be never. They had less than a day until they were going up against Rabastan. She was confident they'd be successful, but that didn't mean there wasn't a risk.

She tucked her legs under her and curled in on herself in the sofa. She could feel her fingers trembling against her sides; she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs. She brought to mind everything she'd put off already, all the thoughts she hadn't wanted to have at the time. The comfort, familiarity, and longing she'd felt after they'd slept together was only a part of it all. Every moment they'd spent together in the past few weeks was as if they'd never separated. The arguments, the camaraderie. The tension, the harmony. His slow smile was still familiar to her; the heat of his body near hers was still welcome. She'd tried not to think about it all because she hadn't been ready to admit that she'd been wrong to forget. Coming with him on this assignment hadn't been because she'd wanted to take the case or because she'd wanted something to do. That had been the beginning of it, but her determination after she'd learned that Draco was assigned to it? That had been because of him. She finally forced herself to acknowledge the most important things, the most crucial points in all her confusion. 

She'd missed him. She'd loved him. And she was still in love with him.

Hermione gave a shaky exhale and lifted her head. "Draco," she said, her voice trembling as much as her hands. "Draco, I--" She couldn't form the words. All she could do was stand, unfolding slowly to reach for him.

He turned around. He looked as if he had been expecting a blow or a curse. The wariness, the tightness of his face and the tension in his body, had her heart aching. She touched him, slid her fingers up his arm to brush the backs of her knuckles across his cheek. "Draco." They didn't have time for this, but she didn't want to stop herself. If they never had another chance, he needed to know. "You still love me," she whispered.

Draco didn't speak. He kept his eyes closed and nodded once. Hermione licked her lips and took a shaking breath. "I still.... I still--"

Draco's eyes snapped open and he gave a hiss of warning. He lunged for her, tackling her into the sofa. Hermione shrieked, but her voice was lost in the sudden burst of explosions that pounded the cottage. The walls shook and the windows shattered, glass flying inward and falling around the room. Draco's body was over her, protecting her from the assault, but she heard him swearing as the shards of glass hit him.

A fierce howling rose over the echoing barrage. In the howl was speech, words Hermione couldn't make out. The voice was female and familiar, but that was all she could identify. Hermione pushed at Draco, shoving him hard to get him off her.

He rocked back onto his heels to crouch at the end of the sofa. Blood speckled his cheeks and tinted his pale hair with drops of red. Hermione started to speak and he made a sharp gesture, cutting her off. He closed his eyes and lifted his head. Hermione listened with him, holding her breath to keep quiet. The howl was impossible to decipher, the words running together into a scream.

It didn't sound like the voice of the ghost they'd heard before, Charity's voice, and Hermione struggled to sit up so she could hear better. "Draco?"

"Quiet." He tensed, shivering, face in a grimace, and raised his hands. He felt at the air as if he were grasping for something invisible. "Magic," he said, voice deep and harsh.

The scream rose, louder and louder, until the voice making it became clear. Blood drained from Hermione's cheeks as she finally recognized it. "Jilly," she said, clutching at Draco's arm. The alert on her tracking charm hadn't gone off. The only reason for that was if Jilly had gone somewhere voluntarily. "Draco, it's Jilly. He has Jilly."

It had to be Rabastan. There was no possibility that he hadn't been involved. He'd taken her, convinced her to go with him somehow, and now her voice was in the howl of the wind. "Tower," Jilly's voice repeated, screaming, battering against Hermione's ears. "The north tower. North to the tower."


	16. 4 April 2013

The explosions and the screaming voice had been a magical attack, but only that. Hermione had circled the cottage, looking for damage, checking for nosy Muggles, but there was no sign of anything from the outside. The walls surrounding the building kept the broken windows from being visible. The incense shop next door showed no disturbance and no one passing on the street had noticed anything. Even Draco's car was unscathed. Except for the shattered glass inside the cottage, she could almost have imagined the attack.

She went back to the sitting room to clean up the glass there. Draco, on the sofa, was wiping a flannel across his face and through his hair to clean the multitude of scrapes he'd earned while guarding her. He stared at a parchment on the table. "Found this on the floor," he said. "Deadline's been moved up. Rabastan seems to think that you did a bit more than place a tracking charm on Jilly. Because of you, he says, we have until sunset. That's about an hour. Congratulations, Granger."

"Me?" Hermione glared at him, her wand sweeping to push most of the glass into the fireplace. "I did nothing! A tracking charm, that's all. Nothing else. Don't blame me for this, Malfoy! I know you're angry, and probably frightened. We both are! But that's no excuse to take it out on me."

He threw the flannel down. "Pardon me, then. We have an hour before we go off to fight. I was done with this years ago, and now it's all back again. Only this time I'm not the only one at risk. Tell you what, you go fight and I'll tell Mr Millburne that I got both of his kids killed. I'll be sympathetic and understanding, because y'know, my entire family's dead too. Maybe we'll have a drink together!" He gave a short, hollow laugh. "Oh, wait. Pub's closed. Owner's out for revenge."

"You didn't get them killed. No one's dead yet."

"Yet? Nice." Draco stood with a growl. He paced the room, glass crunching under his boots. "So, shall we recap? My house has been burnt to the ground and a dangerous Death Eater is on the loose. I'm going to get you killed, I'm going to get two Muggles killed, and by then I'll likely be begging Rabastan to kill me too. And all because of the damned ghost of a woman I watched die. Shouldn't have called us Death Eaters. Should have called us Death Bringers or some other bullshit. And all of this is because Elkins wanted to fuck with me. Best day of my--" His eyes widened and his hands dropped to his sides. "Son of a bitch. Elkins."

He whipped around to point at Hermione. "Elkins! Rabastan said he knew I was coming. Someone had to have told him, and it had to be her. She didn't set this up just for a laugh. She did this deliberately to get me killed. I'll wager she even got Laura injured to get her out of the way so I'd have to come alone. Had no idea you'd weasel your way in, of course, so Rabastan had to adjust on his own. Thrilled him to death to get a fit, pretty woman into the bargain."

"Draco, you're raving."

"Am I? Elkins has hated me for years. She gives me the worst assignments, just because she can. I'll bet you any amount of Galleons you want that she's done this purposefully. She wants me dead, and she's conspired with one of my brothers in Darkness to get it done."

Hermione raked at the end of her braid, pulling it loose. She scrubbed her fingers through her hair, growling under her breath. "We do not have time for your paranoia right now, Malfoy. If you want to think that Elkins has it out for you--"

"She does."

"Then you go right ahead. But keep it to yourself. We have to figure out where Rabastan has taken Jilly and Geoffrey." 

Draco glared at her for a long moment, then he visibly gathered himself. He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "All right," he said in a grumble. "But if we survive this and it does turn out she was after me all along, I'm going to remind you of that fact frequently."

"Good for you." Hermione dropped into the sofa and rubbed her temples, thinking. "We know he has them. He wouldn't take them to the pub. Too obvious, too easy for someone to get suspicious. He had to take them somewhere that was close enough for us to find, but out of the way." She wrinkled her nose up and closed her eyes to concentrate. "The screaming that we heard. In the attack, I heard words. It said 'tower'."

Draco shook his head. "The only towers I know about were on the Manor and obviously those are gone."

"Tower." Hermione snapped her fingers. "The watch tower. It's a mile north of the village and there's nothing around it. Tower, north. That has to be it."

Draco raised a brow. "That makes sense, but we can't exactly trust Rabastan to be logical."

"No, but it's the best option we have." Hermione drew her wand and Summoned her bag. She dug through it for her mobile. "I'll have Harry meet us there with reinforcements."

"Goddammit, Granger, you're going to get them killed."

Hermione held up her hand to stop Draco's chatter. He snarled at her, silently mouthing profanities. Harry didn't answer his mobile and Hermione swore under her breath. If he didn't respond to the call, he was in an area where he couldn't. At the Ministry, at Grimmauld, possibly the Burrow. There were any number of places where the mobile wouldn't work because of the ambient magic. She dropped the mobile into her bag and held her wand in both hands.

Draco made a sound of impatience, but Hermione ignored him. She drew on her happiest memories. The first day she'd learned that she was a witch. The first time she'd cast a complicated charm. The first commendation at work. The first kiss from Draco.

Her eyes snapped open as her wand shook in her hand. The feeling of the spell had never been that strong. Startled, she looked at Draco, then focused on all her good memories of him. Each kiss, each night together. She added the feeling in her heart from that day, when he'd told her that he loved her still. The magic thrummed inside her, ready for release. When she stood up, wand steady in her grip, the spell slipped from her as easily as a breath. " _Expecto Patronum_."

The silvery otter formed immediately. Every line of it, from clawed feet to sleek fur to dark eyes, was as fully realized as a living otter. Smiling proudly, she crouched to give the Patronus a set of instructions. It danced in place, bobbed its head, and leapt out the window, disappearing into the lowering clouds. 

She turned to Draco. "There," she said, nodding in satisfaction. "Harry will meet us, and we'll take care of this once and for all." She glanced outside at the sky, noting the position of the sun and the pastel colors above the horizon. "Help me pack up," she said. "We need to go. We're running out of time."

* * *

Hermione insisted on Apparating to the watch tower. Draco thought to protest, but he expected to die shortly in any case, so decided to enjoy the ride. If anyone deserved to hold on to a beautiful woman in his last moments, he believed he did. He wrapped his arms around her and burrowed into her hair, letting the scent of her fill him up. She was warm and soft in his arms and she fit against him like she was meant to be there.

They landed on the road near the watch tower. Draco took a few extra seconds to hold Hermione, to press a kiss into her hair before she could notice. When he released her, he realized he hadn't been quite quick enough. Hermione looked at him. Her eyes were soft, with a mysterious sparkle in their depths. She went up on her toes and kissed him, properly, catching his mouth with the quickest slip of her tongue across his lip. Draco shivered and let go of her before he could decide to never let go again.

She smiled and touched his cheek, then turned and pointed to the tower. "There," she said. "We were right. There's movement at the tower."

Draco forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. He looked at the tower, examining the outside of it, and started to laugh. "My ancestors _really_ should have explored the local area," he said in response to Hermione's questioning look. "That's the north tower, all right. It's the north tower of Malfoy Manor." He pointed to a carving in the stones near the top of the crumbling tower. It was worn down and grimy with age, but he could see the shapes of the vines that surrounded the Malfoy crest. It was all that remained of his home, and for a brief, giddy moment, he wondered how the Ministry would react if he demanded to move in. This tower was his.

Draco looked at Hermione, his heart pounding with the rush of a sudden idea. "Get me inside," he said. "Whatever else we do, get me inside that tower."

Hermione nodded. She moved closer to the tower, and the air shimmered in front of her. She jumped back with a hiss, shaking her hand as if she'd received a shock. She drew her wand and fired red sparks at the tower. 

The shimmer over the road disappeared. The light breeze began to pick up, blowing faster and harder, until it was pushing from behind them. It gusted, shoving them both toward the tower, and the faint shriek of it turned into the wailing voice they'd heard over the fields the night they first hunted for the ghost.

The voice was Charity's, then Jilly's, then back again and both at once. Draco could only catch a few scattered words in the howl. Save, tower, please - none of it made a coherent sentence and the disjointed, crazed sense of it tore at his nerves. He stayed close behind Hermione, blocking her from the brunt of the wind. It was pushing him off-balance as it was and, of the two of them, she needed to stay steady. When Rabastan decided to attack, Hermione was the one with the wand.

The wind shifted, rising up and dropping down, other voices sliding into it. It took on the crisp vowels of his mother, the nasal shriek of Pansy, the mad savagery of Bellatrix. It danced through the voices of every woman he'd known, every woman who'd left her mark in his life. He knew it was his imagination, only his mind trying to make sense of the buffeting sounds. Knowing it couldn't stop the shivers that ran through him as the howl took on Hermione's voice, as it called his name and rose up, moaning exactly as she did when he made love to her. He didn't dare to ask Hermione if she could hear it too, or if she heard other voices. Maybe the men she'd known, maybe his voice desperate and gasping against her ear.

They neared the tower. A dark archway become visible, an arch that had once held a window. Draco remembered a drawing he'd seen in one of the books in the Manor's library. The window was stained glass, done primarily in greens, blues, and reds. A woman in a long scarlet gown huddled on a rock by a river; a man in armor stood before her, facing away from her. He had the white blond hair and pointed nose of every Malfoy in known history. She had dark hair, wild and loose, and her face was buried in her hands. Draco had never found out what or who the window represented. Even the portraits at the manor refused to talk about the window and the couple it depicted. Now there was nothing left of it except the curl of the woman's sleeve at the side of the archway.

The howling wind stopped, leaving the world silent around them. Hermione tensed and raised her wand. In the fading sunlight, they could see movement beyond the archway, then Geoffrey came through, stumbling like he'd been shoved. He hit his knees in the dirt. Draco grabbed the back of Hermione's jumper before she could run forward. "Bait," he muttered to her. "He's bait, Granger."

She swore, but stopped pulling at him. A mocking voice came from the tower. "Gryffindors always rush into danger, don't they? Disappointing. Maybe if he was a house-elf, he'd be luckier." A spell hit Geoffrey in the back. He fell to his hands and knees, howling under the bite of the spell. Rabastan stepped out of the arch with Jilly clutched in front of him. He held his wand to her neck. "Look," Rabastan cooed to her. "More friends for the party."

"I'm sorry," Jilly said, tears tracking down her smudged cheek. "Mr Crowden - Stan - he said he knew where Freeze was and he'd help me and I thought I could trust him because he knew about the ghost and he believed in--"

"Shut up." Rabastan jabbed his wand into the soft underside of her jaw. Jilly's babble faded to a quiet sobbing. Rabastan shook his head. "Can't stand women who just talk on and on. So many better things they can be doing with their mouths. Wouldn't you agree, nephew?"

"Don't you dare." Draco felt his entire body trembling with rage at the mere thought that Rab might have assaulted Jilly. "If you've touched her--"

"So protective. What's the matter? Your little Muggleborn there doesn't get you going anymore? Have to turn to Muggles themselves? Shameful." He stroked Jilly's short hair and smirked at them as she whimpered. "Not to worry, I haven't touched her. She isn't crying near enough to suit my tastes. But that will change."

"I'll kill you," Draco said, his hands tightening to fists at his sides.

Rabastan laughed. "I'd like to see that. You couldn't kill a weak and helpless old man, Draco. You whimpered and cried just at the thought of it. If Snape hadn't stepped in to take care of it, I was going to kill you myself so I didn't have to hear you whinging any longer. Like putting down a dog."

Hermione took a step forward and Rabastan lashed out with his wand. A sooty orange spell chopped across the road. The ground shook, making Draco grab at Hermione to hold them both on their feet. Rabastan laughed again. "Now this is fun. Who are you going to protect, Draco? Three of them and one of you. Maybe half of you. You were never worth that much as a wizard, much less a man." He shoved Jilly to her knees beside Geoffrey and stood behind them, swaying his wand over their heads. "Come over here," he said. He crooked one finger and grinned. "Give yourself up and I'll let one of these two go."

"He won't surrender," Hermione shouted. She held her wand up, her face twisting in defiance.

Rabastan clucked his tongue. "I was talking to you, girl. Wouldn't mind having a go, even if you are Malfoy's leftovers."

Draco felt Hermione's shudder but she didn't back down. She lifted her chin. Shifting on her feet, she took aim at Rabastan. "Fenrir was more convincing," she said. She took another step, edging toward the side of the road.

Draco knew she was trying to draw Rabastan's attention, and from his sudden grin, Rabastan knew it too. He waggled one finger in admonishment and threw a hex at Geoffrey. Jilly screamed with her brother.

Hermione flicked a spell before their screams ended. Instead of hitting Rabastan, it struck the tower behind him. The rim of the archway, the last piece of the stained glass window, burst outward and flew at Rabastan's head. He ducked, dodging around Jilly and Geoffrey. Hermione went right; Draco went left.

The howling wind returned, blowing him back, screaming past his ears. Hermione and Rabastan traded spells, magic shrieking through the air. The shriek of the wind was painful, almost a physical assault with bits of dirt and tiny shards of rock in it. Draco felt blood dripping from his cheek from the gash of a sharp stone. A spell flashed past him and he dove out of the way, slamming hard against the base of the tower when the spell exploded and threw him. The impact with the stones knocked his breath from him. He lay there, gasping for air and watching the first twinkles of stars in the sky. It took him a minute to realize the shimmer wasn't entirely stars. The scream of magic doubled, tripled, and Potter appeared on a broom, the Disillusionment spell breaking away from him and a trio of Aurors. They swooped past to enter the fray. Potter hovered over Draco. "Get them!" he shouted, pointing at Jilly and Geoffrey. "Malfoy, get them out of the way!"

* * *

Draco scrambled up, breathing hard, pain shooting through his ribs. He clapped one hand to his side and tried not to whimper. Cracked, at least, possibly broken, but he didn't have time to worry about it. He scurried to Geoffrey and Jilly. Tugging at their shoulders, he shouted to be heard over the shriek and crash of magic. "In the tower! Get up, get in the tower!"

Jilly moved first. She grabbed at her brother and hauled him behind her. Draco pushed at them both, shoving them through the arch and into the tower. The stones inside were blackened with smoke and scarred from the raging violence centuries before. Crushed beer tins and torn cigarette packets, sweet wrappers and discarded condom packages told him that the local teenagers used the tower for a meeting place. Draco kicked a pile of rubbish out of his way and touched the wall near the foot of a staircase that wound up the interior of the tower. The building shuddered, stones groaning and creaking. Jilly and Geoffrey both gave tight, frightened cries as the tower seemed to lengthen, the ceiling above receding into shadows.

"Never done that before," Geoffrey said, clutching at Jilly's arm and staring upward.

"No Malfoy's been here in centuries," Draco said. "Used to be part of my family's home. If it's like the other towers, there's a room at the top. You can hide there." The Millburnes gaped at him and Draco shook his head. "No time to explain. Get up there. Up the stairs before somebody comes in here."

"Don't understand," Jilly said, her voice almost childish with fear. "Mr Malfoy, I don't understand."

"Don't try to." Draco shoved the pair at the staircase and urged them to start climbing. "I'll explain later." Right before you get Obliviated, he added to himself. There was no way that the Millburnes would be allowed to remember any of this. It was likely that several locals, if not the entire village, would need to have their memories altered. He surprised himself by hating the thought of it. He liked this village and the people in it. None of them knew who he was or what he done, and none of them cared about anything except the person he was now. They treated him with respect, even some affection, and it bothered him that the kind, welcoming residents would have to be changed because of Ministry rules.

The staircase twisted and wound, narrowing as it rose. Geoffrey and Jilly clung to the wall, avoiding the slender balustrade that separated the steps from open air. Draco followed close behind them, glancing down the tower to the archway below. As they climbed, the darkness pressed in on them, growing thicker. The sunlight was almost gone; the flare and spark of spells being cast outside gave off barely enough light to see the steps. 

The tower shook, creaking and rumbling, and Jilly pressed against the wall with a shriek. Geoffrey took her hand and patted it awkwardly. "Jills," he said. "C'mon, Jills. We can do this, yeah? It'll be like that school trip when we went to London. Remember the Tube? How we had to go all that way down? Just like that, Jills, but the other way."

Jilly nodded at his words and gradually pulled herself away from the wall to let Geoffrey lead her up. Draco encouraged them with a quick smile and gesture. "Right behind you," he said. "Hundred feet up. Room at the top. Keep going." He let them go up, out of view, and slumped against the wall when they couldn't see him. Hand pressed to his ribs, he fought for breath. The battle outside the tower had the air full of magic and he felt like he was drowning in it. It was crawling over his skin and flooding his lungs. It was glorious and terrifying all at once. The feel of it thrilled him, but the reason for it - the shouts of fighting and the scream as a spell hit its target - left him quaking.

Shouting roared up from the bottom of the tower and footsteps pounded on the stairs. Draco forced himself to his feet, bracing for attack. One of the Aurors who had arrived with Potter was charging toward him. The man opened his mouth, lifted his wand, and fell screaming as a spell slammed into his back. The sound of the Killing Curse echoed in the tower. Draco stumbled down a few steps, catching himself on the wall. The Auror's body rolled down the curving stairs, limbs splayed and face bloodied.

"Nephew," came Rabastan's voice from below him. He glanced upward, raising his brows in interest at the winding staircase. "Malfoy secrets? What fun."

Draco scrambled to his feet, the dead man's wand clutched in his fist. Rabastan laughed, low and nasty. "You'd best be able to kill me, Draco," he said. "Because just touching that wand is going to send you to Azkaban. If you're going to prison anyway, think you ought to make it worth it. Take all the time you need. I've blocked the entrance." He walked up the stairs, hands held low. Draco's arm shook as he took aim. 

Rabastan laughed again. "We've been here before, haven't we? We're even in a tower. You're facing down a man, desperate to kill him, and you're still too weak to do it." Rabastan kept moving; Draco stepped back, up the steps. He tried to focus, tried to bring a spell, _any_ spell to mind, but nothing came to him. Rabastan's mocking words were filling up his thoughts. He was lost, terrified - exactly as he'd been the day when he'd faced Dumbledore. He couldn't cast a single spell.

Rabastan stepped closer, until the wand tip hit his chest. Grinning, he lifted it to point it directly at his throat. "Go on," he said. "Do it. Kill me."

Draco met Rabastan's eyes. He tensed his arm and fought with his own mind for the words to any spell at all. He opened his mouth.

Nothing emerged.

Rabastan grabbed his arm and shoved him back, ripping the wand from his hand. "Coward." He ordered Draco up the stairs as booming came from the bottom of the tower. "Up. I assume you think you can hide your Muggles. I want to kill them before your friends break through my shield. Take a good look at this tower, boy. Once I've killed everyone else and had my fun with your Mudblood, I'm going to burn this last bit of your home with you in it."


	17. 4 April 2013

There was no cover, no place to hide. Hermione ducked Rabastan's spells, flicking her wand at the few rocks she could find in efforts to Transfigure them, to make them larger and give her some shelter. She could hear her breathing, rough and harsh, as she moved. It had been years since she'd fought, even in a practice duel. Her body wasn't failing her, thanks to her daily jogs. It was her brain, her magic, that was slowing. Rabastan countered every spell she threw at him, laughing the whole time, and Hermione was running out of ideas already.

She saw Draco slam into the base of the tower and had to order herself not to run to him. He needed to focus on himself and on the Millburnes. She had to keep Rabastan away to give Draco a chance.

She jumped from behind one of her enlarged rocks, drawing Rabastan's attention with a shout. He fired at her, a bright, coal-red flame shooting over her shoulder. The heat crackled past her, dissipating into the air behind her. Hermione rolled and ducked into the shadow of a second rock. She felt at her hair and shirt. Nothing was burned, though she could feel a slight singe to her hair. She'd avoided the brunt of the spell, but she didn't know how much longer she could dodge a hit. It felt like Rabastan was playing with her, deliberately missing, and she had no idea how long it would take before he grew bored and went for a kill.

Hermione peeked over the rock, catching a glimpse of Draco as he disappeared into the tower. Above him, Harry and three other people hovered on brooms. "Hermione!" Harry shouted.

"I'm fine!" she called back. "Get Lestrange!"

The Aurors dove into action. Spells crashed into each other and against the tower. Harry flew down to land behind the rock with Hermione. "Thanks for the Patronus," he said with a flash of a grin as he pushed his glasses up. "Sorry we weren't here faster but I had to wrestle these three out of the pub as it was. Wasps versus Cannons match on the wireless."

"As long as you're here." She peered around the rock, wand tight in her hand. "Draco's in the tower with the Muggles. We have to stop Lestrange, Harry. They're unprotected. They can't defend themselves, and Draco isn't supposed to, not magically." She glared at him, pretending to threaten him with her wand. "By the way, we're going to have a long conversation about that when we get out of here. Not letting the man even touch a wand? That's cruel."

"Not my rules. We'll talk about it later, yeah? After we've survived?" Harry stood to look over the rock and dropped down a second later. A shriek of curling blue magic passed through the spot where his head had been. 

Hermione shook her head at him. "Don't get yourself killed," she said. "Then I'll have to fill out paperwork."

Harry's snort of laughter was covered by a rasping scream from near the tower. Despite Harry tugging at her to keep her down, Hermione edged to the side of the rock to have a look. One of the Aurors was crouched on her hands and knees, retching up blood; a man lay still beside her, his robes smoking. Their brooms were shattered, a few pieces burning in the dirt, and Hermione caught the flutter of robes as the third Auror ran into the tower. Rabastan was only steps behind him.

Rabastan whirled and fired at the rock. Hermione dropped into the dirt to avoid the curse he threw, covering her head with her arms as the curse exploded into a rain of slicing, spinning blades. Harry deflected the attack with a shout and a sweep of his wand. A few blades cut at them, but most were banished quickly. In those few seconds before they ran around the rock, Rabastan was gone. The archway in the tower was sealed, closed off with a translucent shield.

Hermione pounded at it, testing it with spell after spell, but nothing she tried could cut through the shield. She turned to Harry, who was checking on the downed Aurors, both now flat on the ground. "Gupta's dead," he mumbled, nodding at the man. He drew his hand away from the woman's neck where he'd been checking her pulse. "Collingsworth is still alive. She's hurt, but I think she'll make it if we can get this done in time." He looked at the shield blocking the arch and swore quietly.

"I can see a body on the stairs," Hermione said as she strained to see into the shadows of the tower beyond the shield. "It's, um. It's blond." She could hear the tremble in her voice. She thought she should probably be ashamed at her hope that the body crumpled on the steps inside belonged to the third Auror, not to Draco, but all she felt was worry. Until they got through the shield, until she could see for herself-- She wrenched her thoughts away from that possibility.

Harry came up beside her and touched her shoulder. The look he gave her was wary, but understanding. "C'mon," he said. "Let's get this shield out of the way. That.... That looks too big to be Malfoy. I think it's Meadows."

Hermione squeezed his arm in silent thanks for his consideration of her unvoiced hope. They each took a step back and lifted their wands. "Blaster?" Hermione asked. 

Harry nodded. "Full strength," he added. "Put your back into it."

They fired simultaneously. " _Bombarda Maxima_!" they shouted. The shield shimmered and cracked, weakening. Another hit, and one more, and the stones of the archway fell apart with a rumble that shook the entire tower. The shield disappeared with an echoing boom, the air behind it rushing out with a wail. Bits of rubbish and dirt swirled around them, stinging exposed skin.

Hermione barely noticed. She ran into the tower, wand pointed up the winding staircase. A quick glance at the body on the steps made her heart pound. She gasped with relief. "Meadows," she said. "It's Meadows. Not Draco, thank god."

Harry blinked at her and Hermione blushed. "I mean, sorry. It's Meadows, I'm sorry."

Harry shook his head. "Never mind. I get it." He gestured at the stairs and moved in front of her. "Let's go."

* * *

Rabastan shoved Draco through the door at the top of the stairs, throwing him to the floor and knocking the wand from his hand to clatter against the wall of the round room. Draco's ribs screamed with pain and he fought back a greying in his vision. He couldn't pass out now.

"Mr Malfoy!" Jilly, crouched on the floor with her brother, stretched a hand out to Draco. The anxious smile that had been forming when she saw him disappeared immediately when she spotted Rabastan behind him.

"Hello, Muggles," Rabastan said cheerily, shutting the door. He dropped a wooden beam across it, locking it in place. "We're going to have a party."

"Leave us alone." Jilly wrapped her arms around Geoffrey and glared at Rabastan. Her glasses were missing and her green hair was coated with dust, but she lifted her chin in a defiant posture. "We haven't done anything to you."

"You're Muggles. That's enough for me." Rabastan flicked his wand. Sparks danced near Geoffrey's feet and he hauled them back with a whimper.

Draco rolled up to one knee, both hands spread wide. "Leave them out of this. You're after me. Now you have me. Let them go and we'll have it out." Rabastan liked to talk, Draco remembered, and he wanted to draw the man out. If he could take enough time, Hermione, Potter, or the remaining Aurors might be able to get to them. They might be able to end this before he had to risk everything.

"Why are you defending them?" Rabastan asked, face twisting with disbelief. "They're just _Muggles_. They're lower than house-elves. Not even a speck of magic to them." He looked at the Millburnes huddled together, then at Draco in front of them, guarding them. "Oh, nephew," Rabastan said with disgust in his voice. "Don't tell me you feel some sort of kinship with these little fools. Family isn't everything, despite what you think. Looks like they're loyal and protective now, but give them half a chance and they'll turn. They'll turn in an instant and family won't mean anything then."

"They don't deserve this," Draco said. "They don't deserve any of this. It's me you want." He shifted position, intending to move so he could launch himself at Rabastan. Rabastan's wand snapped down, aiming directly at his face, and Draco froze. "Let them go," he said again.

"They deserve it," Rabastan said. "They deserve everything I choose to give them. Look at them. I'd bet that if I gave them the choice, if I said one of them could go if they gave the other to me, it wouldn't take a heartbeat before they started fighting over who got to live. I'd place my wager on the bloke, personally. He has a few dreams he hasn't achieved. What do you think, Freeze? Hand your sister over and I'll let you go. I'll even set you up with that garage you want. Work on all the cars you please, if you give her up."

"No," Geoffrey said. Draco heard him stirring, but didn't take his eyes from Rabastan. Geoffrey coughed and the fear in his voice had faded to a thread when he spoke again. "No. You're not gonna hurt her. Gotta get through me first. Do whatever you want but you can't have her."

Rabastan wrinkled his nose. "No wonder you like him," he said to Draco. "He's you. 'Oh, don't hurt my parents, please, I'll do anything'," he said in a whining voice. "Playing at being a man. He's as stupid as you were. Just like your father, too. Cringing and crying to the Ministry that he didn't mean any of it, that he'd been forced into it to protect his wife. So many lies, nephew. You'll do anything to keep your family intact? It's all _lies_. You're doing it to save your own skin. No one cares that much. No father cares for a son that deeply. No brother cares for a brother. When Rodolphus married Bellatrix, do you know what they told me? They told me that Narcissa was anxious to join us. Brothers marrying sisters. Imagine the strength we could have bred with the mix of our bloodlines. They told me so many things about Narcissa, about her affection for me, about the glory our combined lines would bear. Then she returned from Paris with Lucius' betrothal ring on her finger and my brother laughed at the lies he'd told me. I wanted him dead, then. Wanted all of them dead for their disloyalty. Rodolphus, Lucius, Narcissa, Bellatrix - they're all dead now and I didn't have the pleasure of killing any of them!"

He took a step closer, wand pushed into Draco's neck, into the notch between his collar bones. Draco swallowed, his throat moving against the point of the wand as he tipped his head back. Behind him, Jilly and Geoffrey clutched at each other with soft, frightened cries. "That's what this is about?" Draco asked. He could hear a noise behind the door, the wood creaking as someone attempted to get in, but he forced himself not to look. He locked his attention on Rabastan to keep the man talking, to keep his wild ravings going. A little more time was all they needed. "This is about my mother? My father? You're out for revenge over something that happened nearly forty years ago?"

A boom came from the door, as if someone had thrown a heavy rock or spell at it. It rattled, but Rabastan didn't seem to notice. He grabbed Draco's hair, yanking his head back, forcing him to both knees. Rabastan's eyes glittered with madness. "I'm out to destroy your family," he said, nearly spitting the words. "Turncoats. Cowards. You're the last one, Draco, and when I've killed you, a thousand years of liars and traitors will be finished. It ends here."

He shook Draco by the hair and flung him down. Rabastan took a step back, raised his wand, and settled his shoulders. "Avada--"

The door blew inward, shattered into burning chunks of wood. Draco threw himself at Rabastan. Both men went down in a heap, wrestling for control of Rabastan's wand. Jilly screamed; Geoffrey yelled. Harry and Hermione dove into the room.

Rabastan shouted spells, casting wildly as he tried to bring his wand to bear on Draco. A magical blade flicked out, cutting across Draco's cheek, tearing through the shell of his ear. Draco rolled, his blood spattering onto the stone floor. The tower rumbled.

Another blade sliced across his back, the cut burning into his flesh, ripping a scream from him. He heard the scream echoed in Hermione's voice, heard the shriek of magic as Rabastan faced Hermione and Harry. Draco struggled to move. His ribs stabbed at him; the cuts on his back tore at him. He slumped, moving barely enough to see Harry take the brunt of a curse that flung him into the wall.

Hermione, face twisted up, doubled her efforts. She cast again and again, spells exploding from the end of her wand. Rabastan grinned at her. He whirled and fired a Cruciatus Curse directly at the Millburnes. Their screams reverberated in the room as they writhed in pain. Hermione dodged to attack Rabastan's back. He blocked her easily, then spun to take aim at Draco, another blade shooting to cut across his shoulders. "What are you going to do, Mudblood?" Rabastan called to her. "Can't protect them all, can you? Pick one, pick one! Muggles or Malfoy, your choice!"

Draco didn't hear Hermione's response. He strained to move, to pull himself across the floor. Rabastan, locked in battle with Hermione, had forgotten the dead Auror's wand by the wall. Draco forced himself to focus, ordering his body to respond. He stretched one arm out, fingers wriggling for the wand. "Dammit, Malfoy," he muttered. He had to reach it, had to grab it.

Hermione screamed. Draco snatched the wand and scrambled to one knee. The Millburnes had collapsed, unconscious. Harry was stunned, moving weakly by the wall. Hermione was locked in Rabastan's arms, his wand at her throat, a slim blade shining at the tip. "Should I slit her throat?" he asked with a bright, savage grin. "What do you think? Wouldn't be the first time her blood's been spilled on the stones of Malfoy Manor. Last tower, last bloodshed and battle, last Malfoy. All very nice and poetic, isn't it?"

Draco looked at Hermione. Her lips shaped a word - _no_ \- but he ignored her. He wiped his hand across his cheek and ear, scraping blood from his skin. He let his hand fall, let his blood drip onto the floor. The tower rumbled again. "Malfoy Manor," he said quietly. "My ancestral home. You know, I told Hermione that there was no way anyone could ever learn all the secrets of the place, that there were protections on it so ancient that we'd forgotten them." He met Rabastan's eyes, touched the wand to the blood stains on the floor, and smiled, showing all his teeth. "But we didn't forget them all."

Rabastan's eyes widened. With a violent scream, he flung Hermione away and charged at Draco.

Draco tapped the wand on the floor and bowed his head. "Blood to stone," he said. He closed his eyes and whispered the words of a spell as ancient as his family's lineage. The tower shook as the magic responded to the spilled blood of the last son of the line. Draco spun on his knee, inscribing a circle of blood on the stone floor. Rabastan neared him and a shimmering column of light formed a shield around them, blocking them both from outside forces, trapping Rabastan inside the circle with Draco.

Draco didn't hesitate. As soon as the shield formed, he fired curse after curse, the tower lending its strength to his spells. Rabastan danced under the onslaught, pinned to the shield by Draco's attack, swearing and snarling in pain. Draco could see Hermione outside the shield, pounding on it with her fists. Blood trickled from a cut on her throat and a bruise was darkening under her eye. She shouted at him. "Draco, no! Don't do this. _No_!" 

Draco shook his head against her protests. He stared at Rabastan, at the man who wanted his family destroyed, who wanted him dead. The man who had threatened to kill the people he cared about, the woman he loved. He'd been moments from losing everything, here in this room.

It was time to act. He'd already lost too much. If he was going to lose anything else, it would be through his own choice. Draco lifted his head, his jaw tightening. It was worth the risk. "You were right," he said to Rabastan. "It ends here."

He took aim. " _Crucio_."

Rabastan screamed, writhing against the shield.

" _Crucio_."

Rabastan's screams grew piercing. He thrashed violently.

Draco took a deep breath and aimed at Rabastan's heart. He was facing a dangerous wizard again but this time.... This one deserved the sentence Draco had laid on him. This was no weak old man who threatened the vile goals of a tyrant. This was a man who threatened Draco's life, his loved ones.

He focused, building up his hate and anger, but the words refused to form in his mouth. Hermione was behind the shield, her face twisted in fear, fear for him, and Draco couldn't bring himself to cast the Killing Curse. He swore and lowered the wand. 

Rabastan laughed, his voice jagged from his screams. "Coward!" he shouted. "Coward! Do it!"

Draco shook his head. He pointed the wand at the floor and blasted a hole through the stones. Rabastan fell with a rattling scream, a scream that lasted several seconds before it ended with a sickening crunch at the bottom of the tower's magically-enhanced height. Draco lowered the shield and sank to his knees at the edge of the hole, staring at Rabastan's twisted body far below.

Hermione knelt beside him, arm around his waist and head against his shoulder. "Draco," she murmured.

He shook his head to stop her from saying more. Across the room, the Millburnes stirred, clinging to each other, whimpering with the remnants of pain from Rabastan's curses. Harry, one arm danging useless at his side, stood in front of them in a protective stance. Shaking his head, he crossed to stand by Hermione.

"Malfoy," Harry said. He looked down through the hole at Rabastan's body, then held out his hand. Draco put the dead Auror's wand in Harry's fingers. Harry shoved it into a pocket and looked at him, green eyes stern and sorrowful behind his glasses. "Dammit, Malfoy," he said. He ruffled his fringe and spoke, his voice full of the authority of the Head of the Auror Department. "For the violation of the terms of your agreement with the Wizengamot, the use of the Cruciatus Curse, and the murder of Rabastan Lestrange, you are hereby placed under arrest."

Harry flicked his wand and a set of iron shackles wound around Draco's wrists. Hermione shot to her feet, face pale and strained. Harry sighed, shoulders falling. "I'm sorry, Draco," he said as he turned away.


	18. 4 April 2013

"Harry, you can't. You _can't_ do this." Hermione looked inside the tower, at Draco sitting against the wall, wrists shackled and head bowed, near the three bodies. He'd barely moved since Harry had placed him there, and hadn't so much as looked up when more people arrived to the site of the battle. A dark-haired Mediwitch from St Mungo's was dealing with the injured Auror. A pair of Healers were examining Jilly and Geoffrey in preparation for transferring them to the hospital for care. The area around the tower, warded from further interference, was brightly lit, bright enough for Hermione to see the dark flush around the back of Harry's neck.

He adjusted the sling over his shoulder, careful not to jar his injured arm. "I can't do anything else, Hermione," he said. "I _had_ to arrest him. He broke the law."

"He was defending a pair of helpless Muggles! They could have died!"

"Two of my people did die," he said. Hermione snapped her mouth shut at the look of pain in Harry's eyes. Meadows and Gupta were wrapped in lengths of conjured fabric, their wands and brooms at their sides. Harry had taken care of them personally. His last duty to them, he'd said. When Hermione nodded to acknowledge his point, Harry shook his head and exhaled sharply, gesturing at the tower. "Hermione, it's the law. If he'd done nothing else, he broke the terms of his sentencing. No magic use at all, right? He's not even allowed to touch a wand. Look, I understand the circumstances, but I'm the Head of the Department. How good does it look if I don't arrest him? I've had to take people in for things that are ridiculously small in comparison. But if I'm going to have someone in custody because they turned their neighbor's Pomeranian into a wind chime, I can't let Malfoy go. He's a convicted Death Eater. He used an Unforgivable Curse and he killed a man today. Technically, he could be held responsible for two other deaths as well."

"Lestrange is responsible for those." Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her torso. "You can't pin those on Draco. They died because of Rabastan. Don't make this worse than it is." She stared inside the tower, watching Draco. He looked as if he was a statue, pale and silent in the shadows. Even the gleam of his hair seemed faded, as dull as the iron binding his wrists. Hermione's throat tightened and she had to look away. "It's stupid," she muttered. She stared at the ground, torn up by the fight, and kicked at a lump of dirt. "It's stupid, Harry. Those rules and restrictions. If he'd obeyed, he'd have been killed, and likely the rest of us into the bargain."

"I agree. His restrictions are ridiculous. But he agreed to obey them to stay out of Azkaban. Now...." Harry rubbed two fingers under the knot of the sling. "He could have found a way to avoid this." Hermione glared at him and Harry shrugged his good shoulder. "Could have disarmed him, Stunned him. Could have Petrified him."

"Rabastan was going to kill those Muggles. Kill me."

"Maybe. But Draco didn't have to use an Unforgivable, Hermione. He didn't have to kill the man."

A soft noise came from behind them, a clearing throat so quiet that it sounded like the owner was embarrassed to be interrupting them. Hermione turned with Harry to see a petite woman in the lime green robes of a Healer with a bright gold and green headscarf covering her hair. Harry nodded at her. "Healer Chowdhury."

"The Muggles are ready for transport. Little enough damage for the curse they took. We'll be able to treat that with no troubles. We'll contact the Obliviators to deal with them after the rest of the village has been handled. Probably tell them it was a freak lightning storm," she added with a laugh. "They'll believe anything, Muggles."

Harry moved, stepping in front of Hermione. She huffed at his back. "Wasn't going to hex her," she muttered. "Much."

"Thanks, Chowdhury," Harry said quickly, covering up Hermione's grumbles. "How's Collingsworth?"

The Healer wrinkled her nose. "Hurt. She'll need some time. Good thing you Aurors have some of the best medical leave in the Ministry." She pointed at the tower. "The Death Eater needs--"

"Draco. His name is Draco." Hermione pushed around Harry to confront the Healer. "He's not a Death Eater, not any longer."

Chowdhury looked at her, brows lifted. "Could have fooled me, what he did today." Hermione took a step forward, but stopped herself before she could do more than growl at the Healer. Chowdhury gave a tight, self-satisfied smile and looked back to Harry with a tilt of her head. "Three cracked ribs, several deep cuts. We stopped the bleeding but he'll need someone to Heal his ribs before too long. Are we taking him with us or are we sending someone to the Ministry with you?"

Harry scratched his forehead before taking his glasses off. He tried to clean the lenses on his shirt but his injured arm made the habit awkward. Hermione took his glasses from him and cleaned them with a tap of her wand, absently repairing the loose ear piece as well. "You can't deny him medical treatment," she said as she handed the glasses back. 

"I wasn't going to," Harry replied. He put his glasses on and stared at her, brows furrowed. "And I'm really disturbed that you think I would've. I don't hate him, Hermione. I'm obeying the law, not torturing him. He'll get treatment." He turned to Chowdhury. "We'll take him. Leave a Mediwizard with us."

She nodded and gestured at the dark-haired Mediwitch, now finished with the female Auror. "Morgan Rhys. Tops with broken bones. Bit of a heavy hand with the gauze, so keep an eye on her, but I suppose the more bindings you have on your prisoner, the better."

Chowdhury took her leave, joining the rest of the St Mungo's staff near the Millburnes. "Miss Granger!" Jilly shouted, struggling against a Healer's attempts to get her on a gurney. "Miss Granger, please!"

Hermione rushed over and took Jilly's hands. "Calm down," she said firmly. "These are Healers. They're a type of doctor. All they want to do is take you to hospital. There will be a lot of things that will look and feel very odd to you, but I promise that you'll be fine. It's just like a trip to A&E."

Jilly scraped her teeth across her lip, tears filling her eyes and sliding down her cheeks. "Don't want to go, Miss Granger. Everything's weird."

"I know. But I'll come to check on you. I'll explain what I can to you." It didn't matter what she said to the young woman, she knew. She could explain the full history of witches, wizards, sorcery, and magic, the lengthy tale of Voldemort, Death Eaters, and her role in the war and Draco's background. Aurors and the Ministry and all of it, she could explain if she wanted. It wouldn't matter in the end. The Obliviators would take care of everything to do with magic and contact with wizardry in Jilly's mind, even the smallest hint, until she was left as ignorant as every other Muggle.

Jilly allowed the Healers to maneuver her onto the gurney next to her brother, but she stared at the tower the entire time. "What about Mr Malfoy?" she asked in a trembling voice. "What are they going to do to him?"

Hermione tightened her grip on Jilly's hand, releasing it with a muttered apology when Jilly hissed. She shook her head. "I don't know," she said. 

"They're going to take him away, aren't they?" Jilly looked at Hermione. She blinked out more tears and scrubbed her filthy sleeve across her face to wipe them off her cheeks. "They're going to take him away and he was just trying to protect us."

"I won't let them do that," Hermione said quietly. She patted Jilly's shoulder and nodded at Geoffrey, who was watching them silently, his face bruised and dirty. "I'm going to-to-to--" She shook her head, not in the least certain of what she was going to do. "He'll be fine," she said finally. "We'll all be fine. Go on now," she added as one of the Healers made an impatient gesture. "Just remember everyone's trying to help. I'll be there as soon as I can."

* * *

Draco stared at the three bodies in front of him. Harry had cared for the two Aurors without looking his direction or speaking to him, only shrouding them and laying their wands at their hands. Rabastan had been left where he'd fallen. Other than straightening his twisted limbs and snapping his wand into three pieces, no one had gone near the dead Death Eater. Draco expected, with a morbid humor, that Rabastan would be chucked unceremoniously into a box and thrown into the sea without ritual or notice. It was all they needed to do for him. There was no one left to care.

He wondered if the same would happen to him when he died, as he thought he likely would once sent to Azkaban. No funeral rites with a mourning family, no internment in the Malfoy tombs in the cold tunnels far beneath the house. He hoped the Ministry would provide him a small marker somewhere, at the least. He doubted they'd allow him to be cremated so his ashes could join the remains of his home and family, as appropriate as it seemed to him.

The light from the archway shifted as someone entered, breaking him out of his thoughts. He didn't move, thinking it was an Auror and not wanting to alarm her. He could have Apparated at any time, could have fled easily since Harry had placed him in chains. They'd left him alone and given him plenty of opportunity. He suspected that was deliberate, a chance to add another charge or two to his arrest. He refused to give them the satisfaction. He wasn't going to hide from his crimes.

The woman who'd entered came to stand beside him, then slowly lowered to sit against the wall next to him. Draco held his breath when he recognized the scent of her perfume. "Hermione," he whispered, his voice sounding unnaturally loud to him in the stillness of the tower.

"Don't," she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Don't talk."

Draco fell silent. Hermione tucked her arm through his to lay her fingers on his hand, the chains of his shackles rattling as she pushed them out of the way. She pressed close to him from shoulder to knee. Draco wanted to put an arm around her shoulders but he wasn't willing to move and disturb her. Instead he sat with her, listening to her breathe. After a few minutes, he realized her quiet breaths had changed. Still soft, but ragged and trembling. She was crying.

Draco leaned into her, turning his head to rest his cheek against her hair. Hermione made a choked sound and burrowed against him, wrapping both hands around his arm. "They can't take you," she mumbled into his shoulder. "They can't take you away. You were protecting Jilly and Geoffrey, defending them. You were doing the right thing."

"And I killed a man in the process." Draco shifted to take her hand, interlacing their fingers and pressing his palm to hers. "Hermione, I knew before I did it what would happen. But...." He closed his eyes to avoid the sight of the bodies on the ground. "But I had to. I had to do it. He was going to kill you. If there was anything I could do to prevent that, I was willing to do it."

Hermione shifted against him, the shakes of her body easing as her tears stopped. "It's not fair," she said. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand.

"No argument from me." Draco gave a silent, cheerless laugh. "Potter killed a madman to protect the people he cared about, and they gave him a medal and a nice office. I think the least they could do for me is give me a cell with a window. If there are any in Azkaban. Never been, wouldn't know."

"You're not going to Azkaban. I won't let you go."

Draco squeezed her hand, smiling despite himself. "My mother said the exact same thing to my father, you know. Didn't work then, either. On the other hand, I'm ahead of the game. I don't have a son to get conscripted and branded to take my place. There's no one left. It may actually all be over now."

"It's not fair," Hermione said again.

Draco laughed again, quietly and under his breath. "Better watch yourself, Granger. You're starting to sound like a Hufflepuff."

Hermione thumped her head against his shoulder. "Well, it's not. It's not right, either. This shouldn't be happening. You were doing the right thing."

Draco shook his head. He cradled her hand in both of his, ignoring the slither and rattle of the chains around his wrists. "No. I was doing the necessary thing. It's what I do. It's what I've always done. I do what I have to." He lifted his head to stare at Rabastan's body. "This time it was my own choice. I knew the consequences, Hermione. I knew them, and I made the choice anyway, because it was what I needed to do. Not because someone forced me or ordered me into it. My choice, my reasons, my actions. That's what matters to me."

Hermione clung to his hands, silent beside him. She leaned against him without moving. Draco knew she was thinking, making plans, gathering her ideas, and he was certain that her plans involved him in some way. He wanted to tell her not to bother, that it was pointless considering what he'd done, but it made him warm to think that after all of it, she still wanted to help him. That she still cared about him in spite of what had happened. Caring about her was the reason he'd made that choice.

He heard a sound and looked up to see Harry standing in front of them. "Malfoy," Harry said, glancing away to avoid Hermione's stricken expression. "Time to go."

Draco gently urged Hermione to her feet, away from him. He stood with both arms held low, the chains brushing his thighs. "Go on, Granger," he said when she took a step toward him. "Pretty sure Potter will make sure no one shoves me under a train before my trial."

Hermione hesitated, then made a wrenching sound and ran to him. She flung her arms around his shoulders and dragged his head down, kissing him fiercely, mouth pressed so hard to his that he felt his lower lip scrape and split against his teeth. She cupped his cheeks and kissed him again before turning to run from the tower.

Draco looked at Harry, who lifted his brows and shook his head. "You know, I warned her when you two first started dating that if you ever hurt her, I'd lock you up. I thought I was joking."

Draco snorted quietly. He headed for the archway of the tower, careful to avoid the bodies on the ground, then stopped and turned to Harry. He lowered his voice to a murmur, not wanting anyone but Harry to hear him. "You're going to confiscate my things, I'd imagine, if you haven't sent someone already. There's, er. In the cottage, in my trunk. There's a hidden compartment."

"Fuck, Malfoy, don't tell me--" Harry started.

Draco lifted his hands, the chains rattling. "Not what you think," he said. "Nothing illegal in there. I just want you to get to it first. There's a jewelry box in the compartment. It's...." He tipped his head toward the archway, sighing. "It's for her. Intended to give it to her when this was all over, see if she'd let me take her to dinner or something like that, maybe start over with us, but I suppose I'm not going to get the chance now. Don't confiscate that, please. Give it to Hermione."

Harry glanced at him and nodded after a few moments. "I'll see that she gets it." Straightening his shoulders, he took a firm grip on Draco's arm, escorted him out of the tower, and Disapparated with him.


	19. 5 April - 8 April 2013

Hermione curled into a heavy wingback chair in the library of Grimmauld Place. Flames roared in the fireplace, logs popping and hissing as they were consumed. Despite the heat of the fire, Hermione had a thick duvet over her, pulled up to her shoulders and tucked around her legs. She couldn't seem to get warm no matter how many blankets she burrowed under or how much hot tea she drank.

She heard the floor creak and she tugged the duvet higher around her neck. Harry sat in the matching chair beside hers, bare feet stretched toward the fire. He wriggled his toes and coughed quietly, fidgeting as he settled into the chair.

Hermione wiped her cheeks with the edge of the duvet. "Jilly and Geoffrey are going to be fine," she said in a low, flat voice. "The Healers want to keep them for a couple of days to be sure there aren't any lingering problems. Jilly's.... Geoffrey's taking it all in stride. Jilly's having a hard go of it. She wanted to believe in ghosts and magic so much, but now it's real and it's hard to take. They're keeping her under Calming charms most of the time."

Harry nodded. He adjusted his sling, pushing his hand under it to rub his shoulder. Rabastan's attack had dislocated the joint, but the Healers had set it and he was going to be fine.

Her own injuries had been relatively minor, scrapes and bruises for the most part. She'd refused treatment to return home once the Millburnes were asleep - sedated, in Jilly's case - for the night. Hermione couldn't bear to be around others then. She'd heard too many people in St Mungo's, from Healers to Mediwitches to the Obliviators returning from clearing the cottage and altering the memories of the Muggles of Faith-In-Hart, talking about the incident. The death of one Death Eater and the capture of another had been on everyone's lips. Her protests, her defense of Draco and his actions, had only resulted in concerned questions about her possible head injury. It had been too much for her to take.

She tightened the duvet around her shoulders and rested her cheek against one of the wings of the chair. The leather was cool, sticking to her skin. She closed her eyes and listened to the fire, to Harry's chair creaking as he moved. He cleared his throat, twice, then again after a few moments of quiet. "Malfoy," he said.

Hermione shivered, curling in on herself. "Unless you're telling me he's free, I don't want to hear it."

Harry exhaled audibly, almost a sigh. "He's being transferred to Azkaban in the morning," he said.

Hermione felt hot, stinging tears against her eyelids. "Already convicted him, have you?"

"He can't be held at the Ministry. There's nowhere secure enough. It's a murder charge, with witnesses. It's the law, Hermione. He has to go." He stood to prod at the fire with a long iron poker, the end shaped like a snake's head. Hermione watched from under her lashes as he toyed with the photo frames on the mantle. A picture of Ginny Weasley, in her Quidditch uniform and clutching her broom, gave a bright smile and a wave to him. Harry touched her shining hair in the photo before turning back to Hermione. "There's going to be an investigation, and I'm leading it. He's set for a preliminary hearing in three days. Things aren't looking all that good for him, but it's not a lost cause, not yet. A lot of the people who were on the Wizengamot during his first trial, after the war? They've died or retired or-or-or. Well, it's changed. He'll have a more sympathetic audience now, especially with all the work he's done over the past fifteen years. Plenty of people to testify on his behalf. Even Elkins is working up a statement."

Hermione gave a harsh laugh. "She hates him. That statement is worse than useless."

Harry rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. "Actually," he said. His voice was quiet, almost embarrassed, and Hermione lifted her head to stare at him. Harry wrinkled his nose. "Actually, Elkins has been reporting directly to me for several years. Any assignment she's given to Malfoy has been under my orders. Including this last one. It was meant to be the capper on his file for his release hearing."

Hermione couldn't breathe. She stared blankly at Harry as he moved to take his seat again. He watched the fire for a moment, then twisted to face her, putting his hand on the arm of her chair. "I was trying to help him," he said. "Give him cases where he'd shine, assignments where he wouldn't run into any trouble. I know, I know. It looked like scutwork and punishments from the outside, but it was working, I swear. All of Elkins' reports were _glowing_. All of his case files were immaculate. The testimonials he received, the witness statements in the followups I did - everything, Hermione. Reading it all, you'd think the man was practically Merlin himself."

Hermione kept her mouth closed, lips pressed tightly together. She knew if she spoke, she'd scream. Draco's paranoia about Elkins was misplaced, she'd been right about that, but she couldn't believe that Harry had been responsible. As the silence between them lengthened, Harry fidgeted, picking at the knot on his sling and dragging his thumbnail along the arm of his chair over the brass grommets that decorated the leather. Hermione let the silence grow, watching Harry's movements get more and more uncomfortable, then snapped at him. "What were you _thinking_?"

Harry jumped. He pushed his glasses up and scratched his forehead, tracing the faded scar. "I owed him," he said. "I was trying to help him. He never was _evil_ and I never thought he deserved the sentencing he got. He did a lot of shit during the war, but he was trying to do right by his family. Of all people, I know what it means to be willing to go to those lengths. I understood. Went about it the wrong way, but he wasn't a bad bloke overall. Hell, just for what he did that day at Malfoy Manor, when he wouldn't identify us, I was willing to cut him some slack. In the end, he-he--" Harry shook his head. "He deserved a second chance."

"So you're sending him to prison. Nicely done." Hermione touched her wrists under the duvet, imagining the feel of the shackles she'd seen on Draco's arms. She shuddered and tucked herself into a smaller ball in the chair, wrapping her hands around her shins.

"Hermione...." Harry's voice was soft and resigned. He sighed, tipping his head back in the chair to stare at the smoke-darkened ceiling. "He has a chance. He has a decent chance. I had to arrest him, but that doesn't mean the Wizengamot definitely will convict him. There's loads of extenuating circumstances. My testimony will help. Yours would, too."

Hermione blinked at the fire, her mind suddenly racing. In her fear for Draco and her anger at the Ministry and Wizengamot, she hadn't been able to think of much beyond those dark emotions. Harry's quiet words had her thoughts spinning. They were all muddled, twisted and snarled, but in the mess of it, she could see the ends of a few slender threads. Circumstances, precedents. The hints of possibility teased at her brain.

Harry stood and stretched, digging in his pocket. "Going to bed," he said. "This is--" He set a small box on her knee atop the duvet. "Malfoy said he bought it for you. Might give you some inspiration, dunno." He brushed the top of her head, years of friendship in the affectionate touch, and left the library.

Hermione stared at the box for a minute, then dragged her hands from beneath the duvet. She opened the box carefully. The cameo inside made tears prickle at her eyes. It was gorgeous, the silhouette of the book finely detailed and the variegated shades of green shining. A folded piece of parchment was tucked beneath it. Hermione slipped the note out to read it, the cameo clutched in her free hand.

 _For the most irritating and intelligent woman I've known_ , the message said in Draco's sloppy handwriting. _I can't walk past a book without thinking of you, ink all over your hands and your eyes bright as the moon. You're never more beautiful than when you're researching, reading up on ways to save yet another downtrodden creature. Watching you at your studies are some of the happiest memories I have. I can't create a Patronus, but if I could, it would be you as you read._

Hermione set the note and box aside to turn the cameo over in her hands. She stared into the fireplace, her muddled thoughts untangling, smoothing out until she could see the threads of a plan.

Three days. Draco's hearing was in three days. It wasn't much time, but it might be enough.

She bolted up from the chair and called for Kreacher. "Coffee. Loads of it. And every Wide-Awake potion in the house." She snapped her wand to light all the lamps in the room, then Summoned quills, parchments, sticky notes, and ink. An arsenal of office supplies gathered on the library desk as she turned to the book shelves. She fixed the cameo to her shirt over her heart and lifted her chin. Reading up and research was precisely what Draco needed.

* * *

Draco settled his hands beneath his head and stared at the irregular stones in the ceiling of his cell. He'd counted them all twice over in the two days he'd been in the prison. Stone fifty-three had one edge that looked like the curve of Hermione's shoulder; stone eighty-seven was just one shade off from the color of her eyes. He hoped they returned him to this cell after his trial and the conviction he assumed was inevitable. It would make the years of his sentence go faster if he had those reminders of her.

A jangle from the narrow corridor outside pulled his attention away from contemplating stone fourteen, the one directly above his head that had a quartz glimmer in it that reminded him of the way Hermione's skin glowed, damp with sweat and exertion, after a night of sex. That was a stone he knew he'd look at thousands of times over the years to come.

He pushed onto his elbows and glanced at the barred window high in the wooden door on the opposite side of his cell. The man who was in charge of his cell block, a balding wizard with his skull ringed with the merest hints of red hair, peered through the bars. "Visitor, Malfoy."

Draco blinked. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the ledge cut into the wall that served as a bed. He couldn't fathom who would come to see him. It was surprising enough that anyone other than guards and prisoners were allowed on the island at all, much less that one would be there for him. Apparently Harry's claims to have instituted some reforms in the prison system went beyond allowing inmates a few comforts in their cells. Draco had been given bed linens, two pillows, and even an oil lamp, in addition to being allowed to keep his own clothing after it had all been checked thoroughly for spells. Now a visitor. It was practically luxury compared to what he had imagined.

He stood but stayed well back from the door, one of the many rules he'd already had to learn, and kept his hands in clear view. The door creaked and groaned as it opened. The guard looked in, nodded, and stepped out of the way.

Hermione walked into the cell.

Draco stared, unabashedly stared, thinking he'd fallen asleep and this was no more than a dream. Hermione wore heavy robes against the chill of the prison. Draco spotted the green cameo at her throat, pinned to her shirt just above the collar of her robes, and that helped to convince him this was real.

Hermione gestured at the door and the guard brought in a cart. It was laden down with so many books that the wheels barely turned and the guard had to prod it along with kicks, shoves, and swearing. "Thank you, Mr Campbell," Hermione said. "Now, it's freezing. Let's have some heat in here."

"Can't let prisoners have open fires," Campbell said.

"I'm aware of that. Heating charms are permissible. As I was required to leave my wand at the gate, you will need to do the spellwork." 

Hermione stared at the man until he flushed and shuffled his feet. "Don't see why we should waste time on a prisoner," he mumbled.

Hermione drew herself up to her full height. "Mr Malfoy is being held until his hearing. He is _not_ an official inmate of Azkaban prison and therefore is not subject to the full regulations. Not to mention that allowing anyone here to freeze is a direct violation of the statute of rights drawn up by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Head Auror Harry Potter. A dear, personal friend of mine."

Campbell grumbled in protest but drew his wand and cast several charms on the cell. It warmed within seconds, easing a tremble Draco hadn't realized he was having. It had become normal to him already, the slight shiver, and he stretched unconsciously, pushing up his sleeves as the cell heated. He stood straighter, fingers loosening from their chilled curl. Even the floor warmed under the thick soles of his boots.

Campbell left, shutting the door behind him, and Hermione shrugged out of her robes. She wore the green jumper again, Draco's favorite, and a long skirt over tall heels. Draco watched her choose a few books from the cart to put on the small, uneven table in the corner of his cell and turn up the wick of the oil lamp. "So this isn't a conjugal visit?" he asked, falling on weak humor to cover his confusion.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder as she laid parchments beside a quill. "You've been here two days, Draco."

"I already got bored."

Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes as if amused, but Draco noticed a few cracks in her performance. It _was_ a performance. He could see her tension in the shake of her hands and the lines around her eyes. Her shoulders had the tightness that told him she'd been bent over books for hours. He checked the window in his cell door to verify that Campbell wasn't eavesdropping on them, then moved closer to the table. "Hermione," he said quietly. He touched her shoulder, nodding to himself when he felt the knots of muscle beneath her jumper. Not just hours of books, but days.

"I'm--" Hermione brushed the back of her hand across her cheeks and straightened the stack of books. "I'm here as your legal council, Mr Malfoy. We have a great deal of work to do so let's not waste time."

"Legal council?" Draco turned her to face him. He placed his fingers under her chin and coaxed her to lift her head. Her eyes shone with tears, worry and exhaustion clear in her face, but she met his gaze without drawing back. Draco had to order himself to take his hand away, to resist the temptation to stroke her skin. Azkaban no longer had Dementors to keep the prisoners in check with depression, loneliness, and despair, but the bleak prison cell still made him crave human touch. Or truthfully, he admitted to himself, it was _her_ presence that he needed. He forced himself to stop touching her, but he wasn't willing to move away.

Hermione didn't move either. She looked up at him, a tiny, sad smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "The Malfoy family solicitor seems to be overloaded with cases that appeared, suddenly and mysteriously, just this week," she said. "I tried to find someone else, but I couldn't afford anyone willing to help you. I'll be representing you at your hearing. It's.... We don't have much time and I have a lot of reading to do. We should get started."

"You don't have to do this," Draco said. He waved his hand over the table and books, noting now that they were all tomes on law and history, bristling with bookmarks. She'd used anything she had to hand, it seemed, as the bookmarks ranged from scraps of parchment to quill feathers to the shiny wrapping of a boiled sweet. "Honestly, this isn't necessary. There's very little to say about what I did. I don't have the best defense."

"But you do." Hermione gripped his arms, just above his elbows, then released him quickly as if she'd not intended the motion. She pulled out the wooden chair and sat on the edge of it, staring up at him. "Draco, I've found a dozen cases with precedent in wizarding history. I'm on track to find a couple more, if I can get into the Wizengamot's archives. Even Harry set a precedent. You said it yourself, he killed Voldemort for very similar reasons and he got a medal for it."

"Hermione." Draco leaned against the table, one foot touching hers, and curled his fingers around the top of the table to ensure that was all the contact he'd allow himself. "Really. Believe me. It's very kind of you to do this, even if I'm surprised Potter hasn't had you checked into St Mungo's to have your head examined for it, but it isn't necessary. We'll ignore that I don't feel you'd be successful, though god knows if anyone could pull off the miracle, that Gryffindor passion of yours could be persuasive."

Hermione stared up at him. The roil of emotions in her face had settled into bewilderment, from the tilt of her head to the set of her mouth. "Why don't you want my help?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "Why don't you want to do this?"

"It's not that I don't want--"

"It is. I know you, Draco. I know you a lot better than you think, and when you go on like that, it's because you're trying to talk me out of something. You babbled for twenty minutes in Paris because you didn't want to go to the Louvre."

Draco looked at the floor between them. His eyes were drawn to the curve of her calf outlined under her skirt. He followed the sweep of her leg down to her trim ankle and along to the hint of her toes peeking from her shoe. He tried to memorize the look of her legs as much as he remembered the feel of them wrapping around him. "The paintings are dull. They don't even move," he said, hoping to distract himself from his thoughts and failing, hoping to distract her from her questions and failing even more. 

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him. "The point is, you don't want this. I can tell that, but I don't know why."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "No," had said. "I don't really want you to do this."

"But why? Why on earth would you be against this? I might not be an actual solicitor, but the Wizengamot is shockingly lax on who they allow to act in official capacities. I'm fully capable of doing this for you. More than that, I want to. I want to help you. Why are you against it?" She touched his arm, looking up at him with her brows furrowed. "Do you not want to be released?"

Draco stayed quiet for a few moments. A few too long, it seemed, because Hermione got to her feet and put her hands on his shoulders. "Draco." She leaned in close, staring directly into his eyes. "Draco, do you want to be kept here?"

"I don't know," he said in a soft voice. He didn't dare to speak louder than that. It wasn't something he was prepared to admit to himself, not out loud. He took a deep breath and folded his arms, hiding his fingers under his biceps. "I don't know, Hermione. In a way...." He shook his head slowly. "Want to? No. Feel it might be for the best? In a way, yes."

Hermione tightened her grip on his shoulders. Her nails pressed through his shirt and dug into his skin. "Draco. Don't say that. Don't even think it. That's mad."

"Might be. But it still might be for the best." Draco caught her wrists before she could claw at him again or shake him. "Hermione, what else is there for me? If this hadn't happened, what would I go back to? A life without magic. No family, no home. Nowhere to go, no one in my life. There's nothing for me. Hell, Azkaban has at least one point in its favor. I wouldn't have to go back to that fucking job."

Hermione locked her fingers around his hands, squeezing so tight Draco imagined he could feel the bones grinding together. "You're wrong," she said. A wild, determined light had entered her eyes. She grabbed his head, twisted her fingers in his hair, and hauled him down to growl directly in his ear. "You're wrong, Draco. There is _everything_ for you outside these walls. You have a chance, you have a future. You have someone who loves you." She wrenched his head around and fastened on his mouth. She kissed him fiercely, biting at his lips, dragging her nails across his scalp. "I love you," she said without breaking the kiss. "I still love you and you still love me, and that. Is. Enough."

* * *

Draco gave her a startled look, his eyes wide, the grey nearly obscured by the dilated black of his pupils. Hermione clutched at his shirt. "It's enough," she said. She pressed close to him, pushing between his knees to stand with only an inch between them. She stared into his eyes, their faces so near that she could feel the heat of his breath on her skin. Releasing his shirt, she slid her hands up to cradle his cheeks. All her plans to talk with him about the hearing, to discuss testimony and evidence, went completely out of her thoughts. Draco looked worried, confused, even frightened. She didn't know why he felt he belonged in Azkaban, couldn't begin to think how he could believe that, but the idea broke her heart. She couldn't bear that hurt look in his eyes.

She tipped her head and kissed the corner of his mouth. "You're worth more than this," she murmured. Draco trembled, his hands locking on her waist with a jerk, as if he were fighting his own body. Hermione kissed across his mouth, small kisses that barely touched him, from corner to corner, then slowly worked her way along his jaw to find the soft hollow beneath his ear. "You're worth more to me."

She took his hands and stepped back. Draco followed her, letting her pull him across the cell. There wasn't much room on the bed in the wall alcove, but there was enough. Hermione turned to push Draco down and stood in front of him. He opened his mouth. She bent to give him another kiss. Whatever he'd been about to say was lost in a soft moan. Hermione wasn't certain which of them made the sound, but it didn't matter. Before she could break the kiss to straighten up, Draco had his fingers in her hair. He tugged gently and she slid down to join him, stretched out beside him in the narrow space. 

Hermione brushed his fringe away from his eyes. She propped on her elbow and leaned over to kiss him. Draco rolled to his back, pale lashes fluttering, and took a shaky breath. His heart pounded fast beneath Hermione's hand. "Hermione," he whispered. "This isn't a good idea."

She paused, her hand stopped halfway down his chest. She looked over him, the tight curl of his fists and the swelling bulge in his trousers. She swept her hand down his torso and cupped his cock. Draco sucked in a breath, his back arching, his head falling to the side as he swallowed hard. "Sleeping with you was never a bad decision, Draco."

His fingers wrapped around her wrist to hold her in place. Slowly, he pulled her hand from his cock. He shook his head and pushed her hand back to her, moving away in the narrow space. He opened his eyes and looked at her. "No," he said, his voice already rough. He licked his lips and shuddered like he was trying to gain control of himself. "No, Hermione."

Hermione went still immediately. Of the many arguments they'd had over the years, this was one subject they had both agreed on without the slightest debate. Draco had been emphatic from the beginning that he needed to hear her say yes before he'd touch her; she'd always given him the same respect. She moved to the edge of the bed, sitting up against the wall and watching him collect himself. "Why?" she asked once the rapid heave of his chest had slowed.

Draco was quiet for a moment, then he pushed to sit up, legs stretched out and one of his pillows across his lap. He plucked at the seams of the pillow case. "Because it _is_ a bad idea." He held up one hand to keep her from speaking. Hermione caught a familiar glint in his eyes, a particular set of his shoulders, and despite the difficulty in it she held her tongue.

Draco exhaled slowly and lifted his head to meet her eyes. "I'm not saying that I wouldn't want to. When it comes to you, I always want to. Hell, from the first time I let myself even _think_ about touching you, I haven't stopped wanting you. And as you've already discovered, I'm still in love with you. If ... if things were different, I'd be happy to start up with you again. But not like this. Not under these circumstances."

"I wasn't--" Hermione felt heat spreading over her skin. She stood to pace the small confines of the cell. She traced the lines between stones in the wall. "I didn't mean that I want to-to start things again necessarily." The idea had been floating around in her mind since they'd started the case, she had to admit. Since Draco had touched her arm in his office, really. Taking him to bed the night they'd found the ruins of Malfoy Manor had been a symptom of that. She missed him, more than she'd realized, but her actions there in the cell hadn't been with any thought of rekindling their relationship. She admitted to herself that starting up with him again would make her happier than she'd been in months, personally, but that hadn't been her intention when she'd kissed him. "That's not what I meant, Draco."

"I know," Draco said. "And that's why I'm not going to sleep with you now."

Hermione hid a flinch at the quality of his voice. It wasn't quite sorrow, wasn't quite resignation, but there was enough of both in it to make even those soft words cut through her. She fidgeted with the books she'd stacked on the table. "About your case," she said.

Draco sighed. She heard him moving behind her, then felt him beside her at the table. He turned up the lamp and took the chair, picking up a quill. "Yes," he said, his eyes locked on the parchment in front of him. "Since we are apparently incapable of talking about anything to do with the two of us, let's talk about the case."

Hermione sank her teeth into her lip at the flat, cold tones of Draco's words, almost as cold as the cell had been when she first stepped in. She twisted her fingers in the side of her skirt to keep from touching him in apology. Coughing to clear her throat, she opened the book at the top of the stack to the first marker and drew her finger down the page. It took all her effort to keep her voice from shaking. "In the eleventh century," she started, "the Wizengamot heard the case of William of Sharpston."


	20. 9 April 2013

"Hermione!" Harry's shout echoed in the dark, empty corridor. Hermione turned away from the door of Courtroom Two, scraping a wayward curl back from her forehead.

"Harry." She huffed and gestured at the door. "Draco's hearing starts in an hour and the door's locked. Locked!"

"Yeah, that's why I came looking for you." Harry made a face of disgust at the door and flicked two fingers at it. "Old wizards can't learn new tricks, apparently. You know, they tried the same thing on me. You'd think they'd do something else after all these years. Make the rooms Unplottable or something. Creativity, too much to ask."

"Try what?" Hermione grabbed Harry's arm to stop his short tirade. Her stomach was knotting up and the leather case in her hand was heavier by the second. Lifting her brows, she stared at him. "Try what?"

"They moved Malfoy's hearing. It's not here, and it's not in an hour. It's in a private chamber and it's now." Harry checked his watch and swore under his breath. "Actually, it's ten minutes ago. C'mon, I'll take you Side-Along. Walking's too long." He took her arm and spun in place without giving her the chance to respond.

Hermione clung to him as they Disapparated, trying to ignore the swooping, disorienting roll in her gut as they traveled. It wasn't so bad when she Apparated herself, but letting someone else control the Apparition always left her feeling a little nauseated. When they landed, she leaned against the wall until her stomach settled. She wasn't going to walk into any courtroom looking green and ill.

When she looked up finally, she blinked in confusion. The corridor here was unfamiliar to her, with dark wooden floors and darker walls that looked nothing like anywhere she'd been in the Ministry. She was sure she'd explored almost all of the building in her years there. Even the terrifying fight in the Department of Mysteries, when Sirius had died, had taken her into areas she could recognize now. This corridor was completely foreign, and the unusualness of it made her heart pound a little faster. If the Wizengamot didn't want Draco's hearing to be held in any of the expected rooms, that didn't bode well.

She glanced at Harry, brows furrowed in confusion. He shrugged. "Told you it was private." He led her down the corridor and around a corner to a tall set of arched doors. They were so old they were almost black with age and were banded with a dozen iron bars spaced evenly up their height. No knob or handle was visible on either door. Harry stepped forward and put his hand on a spot in the lower half of the left door, a place that was shiny with wear. Hermione wondered how many centuries of wizards and witches had touched that door to leave the wood so smooth and polished. Generations upon generations, possibly a thousand years or more, hidden here where no one could see.

Harry said his name and title, announcing Hermione as well, and the doors swung open. Heated air rushed past them, ruffling Hermione's hair and flapping her robes against her legs. A muddle of voices reached them. Harry escorted Hermione in and the door closed behind them with a boom that sounded far too final to Hermione's ears. She shivered as Harry led her to an empty table at the side of the chamber.

The ceiling of the room seemed to disappear into darkness and the far wall was lined with high, enclosed benches. It looked much like the regular Wizengamot courtrooms but only a handful of people in plum-colored robes had taken seats. A table that matched hers was across the chamber, with a short, elderly wizard already seated behind it, his curled boots barely touching the floor. Hermione paid no attention to the people or the murmur of voices that rose to a quiet roar when she entered. Her focus was entirely on the heavy chair bolted to the floor in the center of the chamber and on the thick chains that bound Draco in the seat, his wrists and ankles held fast.

She covered her mouth to hold back a shriek. She managed two steps toward Draco before she felt Harry's hand around her arm. "No, Hermione," he said in a low voice, pitched for her ears only. "You're his legal council. Not his girlfriend. Don't blow your chance to represent him before you even start."

Hermione took a deep breath and a step back, nodding slowly. Harry was right. She wasn't acting like someone there to defend a client. She was being foolish. She wanted to run to Draco, rip the chains free, and release him from his bonds. That wasn't going to be helpful to him in the slightest, as tempting an idea as it was to her.

Harry took a seat in a folding chair behind a balustrade just to the rear of her table. Hermione set her leather case on the table and popped it open to pull out the notes she'd made. She had to keep her eyes on her parchments to stop herself from staring at Draco. It had been less than forty-eight hours since she'd seen him in Azkaban and he looked as though he was halfway to death. His hair was dull, his skin ashen, and his fingers were visibly trembling on the arms of the chair. She suspected that the guards of Azkaban - that Campbell fellow, most likely - had taken a little frustration out on one of the last Death Eaters to set foot on their island. Draco had evaded a prison sentence once before. Maybe they'd been waiting for their chance. She could see the shadow of a purple bruise high on his left cheekbone, and she slammed a book onto the table with unnecessary force at the thought that someone had actually dared to strike him. 

The sound echoed in the chamber. A black-haired woman with sickly white skin was sitting in the middle set of benches, behind a nameplate reading Eileen Duncan. She lifted a monocle to one eye and stared at Hermione. "Miss Granger," she said. "Are you quite ready to begin after this inexcusable delay?" Her voice held a slight Scottish burr and reminded Hermione of Minerva McGonagall. The tone and accent made her spine straighten despite her irritation at the words. The delay had not been her fault.

"Delay?" Hermione said, forcing herself not to glare at the witch. "There wouldn't have been a delay if the time of the hearing hadn't been changed. Without notifying me, I might add." The witch's expression didn't change as she stared down the length of her hooked nose. Hermione flattened her hands on the table and exhaled sharply. "Yes," she said in the most calm tones she could muster. "I'm ready."

"About time." The witch stood and smoothed her hand down the front of her plum-colored robes. She opened the hearing, naming the Interrogators and other Elders of the Wizengamot, formal phrases and statements that were dutifully taken down by the pair of Court Scribes sitting near her bench. Hermione let the sound wash over her, watching Draco instead of listening to the long speech. He barely moved, even when Madam Duncan read the list of charges from his arrest. Head bowed, he stared at the floor between his feet. Hermione felt her fingers move along the feathers of her quill and she quickly clutched her hands in her lap, realizing that her unconscious had been trying to brush Draco's fringe away from his eyes.

She heard Harry give a warning cough behind her and she looked back to the bench in time to see Madam Duncan take her seat again. The witch flicked her wand and the sound of a gavel rumbled through the chamber. "Alvin Tuffett, present your arguments."

The little wizard jumped up and shuffled in front of the bench. Hermione leapt to her feet. "Wait! This isn't right!"

Tuffett sniffed and addressed the bench. "If Miss Granger had been paying attention during the opening statements rather than ogling her lover, she would know this is proper procedure for a trial."

Cheeks flaming red at the dual insults, Hermione lifted her chin. "My _client_ ," she said with a glare at Tuffett's back, "is not on trial. This is a preliminary hearing to determine the validity of the arrest, not to sentence Mr Malfoy for any alleged crimes. The chains are unnecessary and prejudice the Wizengamot against Mr Malfoy. Before these proceedings advance, I demand his bonds be removed."

"That's ridiculous," Tuffett said. "She just wants to set her boyfriend free."

A black wizard to the left of Madame Duncan held up his hand before Hermione could retort. His nameplate read Carl Mercer. "Demands are not welcome here," Mercer said, frowning. Tuffett turned to smirk at Hermione, but his face fell when Elder Mercer continued to speak. "However, neither are your insinuations, Mr Tuffett. The former relationship between the accused and his defense is not part of these proceedings. Miss Granger has a point about her client. The restraints are not necessary."

"He's a Death Eater," Tuffett sputtered. "You're going to let him loose?"

"Are you afraid of him?" Elder Mercer gave a tiny smile and combed his fingers through his short, neatly trimmed beard. "If so, you are welcome to excuse yourself from the hearing. Another wizard may be less ... timid."

Tuffett grumbled and made a face, but gestured grandly at the bench and Draco's chair. "Fine," he muttered. "Let the killer free."

The wizard lifted his wand. Draco's chains rattled and shifted, disappearing into a puff of rust-colored smoke. Hermione sat on the edge of her chair, watching Draco. He still didn't lift his head, but she caught the slightest loosening of his shoulders, the tiniest relaxing of his fingers. She barely managed to stifle a smile of relief at seeing even that much response from him. Turning her attention back to the bench, she caught a quick nod from the bearded wizard.

"Mr Tuffett," Madam Duncan said after a poorly-hidden glare to her left. "You may continue. Present your arguments and your evidence to the court."

* * *

A small antechamber, brightly lit but cold, was behind the benches where the Wizengamot sat. Two of the Interrogators escorted Draco to the room to wait out the duration of the recess. They left him a pitcher of water, a bowl of lukewarm soup, a plate of wilted green salad, and a gelatinous pudding. Despite the meagerness of the meal, Draco bolted it down. It was better than he'd had in Azkaban over the past few days. Apparently the reforms had not yet reached the prison kitchens. Anything that was a step above the allegedly nutritious fare he'd been given to date was almost a feast.

The low stone bench that was the only seat in the chamber felt like ice under him when he tested it, and Draco stood instead, rubbing his hands together, chafing his arms under his sleeves and wincing when he accidentally scraped across the bruises left on his wrists from the shackles that had been far too tight. He considered asking for a cloak or even a heavier shirt, but decided to keep quiet and not bring much attention to himself. Keeping his mouth shut had been working for him all morning, even if he'd had to struggle during most of Tuffett's arguments. He'd known the little rat of a wizard disliked him but hadn't realized the depths of it. Tuffett outright hated him, and had made that perfectly clear during the presentation to the Wizengamot. Every argument had been directly at Draco personally - not his actions, not anything he'd done over the past fifteen years. At _him_.

Worse, at Hermione. Tuffett had taken every opportunity to lay blame at Hermione's feet, insinuating that Draco's relationship with her had been responsible for several of the missteps and mistakes in the past few years. Snide comments on his 'flouting regulations' by using Side-Along Apparition to avoid the restrictions on his travel were only the best of it. Tuffett had claimed, one right after the other, that Draco had deliberately forced Hermione into sidestepping the rule and that Hermione had talked Draco into it herself, without ever seeming to notice the inconsistency in the accusations. Most members of the Wizengamot hadn't seemed to notice either, though Draco had been gratified to see a few people, including the bearded wizard who'd ordered Draco's chains removed, taking notes with dour expressions each time Tuffett contradicted his own words.

Draco had managed to stay silent through most of the hearing, responding only to direct questions from the Wizengamot Elders and Interrogators, and keeping those responses to a minimum, but Hermione had suffered a much rougher time of it. She'd been warned three times to remain seated during Tuffett's arguments, and warned five times to stop interrupting. Draco hadn't dared to look directly at her, but watching her from under his lashes had let him see her face getting redder and redder, almost purple with anger when Tuffett had claimed that the only reason she was defending Draco was based on the 'well-known propensity for weak-willed women to be enamored with convicted criminals'. Draco had barely managed to repress a laugh at that; Harry, sitting behind Hermione, hadn't bothered to stifle himself. Even the Wizengamot members who seemed to be against Draco had chuckled, leaving Tuffett sputtering and rifling through his papers with sharp irritation.

The door creaked open and Hermione stormed in. She paced the small chamber, swearing and making gestures in the air that looked like she was strangling invisible people. Draco watched her silently, waiting for her to finish her solo rant. When she stomped her foot and turned to him, her face immediately softened. She crossed to him and took his hands, making a face at the chill in his fingers, then snapped her wand to warm the room. She brushed his fringe away from his eyes. "When did this happen?" she asked as she touched his cheek. 

Draco tipped his head to keep her from touching the bruise itself. "Just after you left," he said quietly. "It was an accident."

"I'll just bet." Hermione cupped his chin and tipped his face to the light. She drew her thumb beneath the damaged skin, then drew her wand and whispered a quick charm to fade the bruise. Draco could see a glitter of anger in her eyes, but her hands were gentle as she touched him. "Was it Campbell? Your guard? I'll get him fired for this."

Draco moved back before he could give in to the temptation to lean into her hand. "Leave it," he said. "It's nothing. The chains were worse. Thanks for getting those off me."

Hermione stared at him, lips tight and nostrils flared. Draco expected she didn't want to leave the topic of his injury alone but he wasn't willing to discuss it. Either she'd refuse to believe him no matter how many times he explained it truly had been an accident, or he would have to explain the accident itself. That was definitely something he didn't want to do. The situation had been embarrassing enough at the time; he wasn't going to relive it with her. After they'd finished their discussion and she'd left his cell, he'd returned to his bed and indulged in a quick, glorious wank. Glorious, until the cell door rattled and he'd rolled away from view so fast that he'd smacked his face into the wall.

Draco turned away from Hermione, shaking his fringe over his eyes to hide the remnants of the bruise. "Tuffett's slamming hard on the smallest things," he said.

He heard a huff of resignation behind him, then Hermione cleared her throat. "That's because he doesn't have anything big to discuss," she said, and Draco's shoulders relaxed at the tacit agreement to move on to a new subject. "The only claims he actually has are the charges from Faith-In-Hart. That arrest is all he has to throw at you."

"You don't think that's enough? I managed to destroy fifteen years of good behavior in one day." Draco slumped onto the stone bench, one eye on the door for the return of the Interrogators and the end of the hearing's recess. He rubbed his hands together and blew on his fingers to warm them. The charm Hermione had cast wasn't reaching his hands, though he knew the chill in his fingers wasn't due to the temperature. It was the results of the hearing, the results and sentence he expected, that had left him cold.

"I have plenty of cases and precedents to mount a defense against that," Hermione said. She folded her arms and shook her head slowly. "We went over this already, and I found another half-dozen I can use. We have a lot on our side, not least your motives behind your actions."

Draco started to speak and Hermione lifted her chin. Draco closed his mouth. He didn't need her to tell him that she didn't want to hear his protests. That was clear enough in her face. There wasn't much else he could say in any case. He didn't believe that his motives were sufficient to give reason for breaking his agreement with the Wizengamot and going against the restrictions that had kept him out of Azkaban the first time. She did. He thought she was overly optimistic; she thought he was unnecessarily pessimistic. He decided to keep quiet on the matter.

After a long moment of watching him silently, Hermione let her arms fall. "We have precedent," she said again. Each word was firm and solid as the stones he'd counted in his cell. "We have a good case. And, despite what you are apparently determined to believe, and despite what you told me, you do have a clause in your agreement with the Wizengamot that permits you the use of unconscious defensive magic in case of imminent bodily harm. It's not worth much more than the sort of magic children have before they're taught to use wands and control themselves, but it is there."

Draco shook his head and leaned back against the wall behind him. He watched a spider crawl across the ceiling above him and disappear into a crack, trailing a tiny length of silken web behind it. He closed his eyes. "No, it's not. I don't know what you're talking about, but I strongly suspect that you haven't had enough sleep the past few days because you sound delusional."

Even with his eyes shut, he could practically see the face she was making. He knew she was glaring at him, knew she'd put her fists on her hips and thrust out her chin. "Malfoy," she said slowly. "You have an out in your agreement. One tiny way to get around the 'no magic use' restriction. We'd have to convince the Wizengamot that your actions were unconscious and unintentional, that you had no idea what would happen and that you had only reacted to protect your own life. Difficult, but entirely possible. It's what Malfoys do, isn't it?"

He ignored the barb, as much as it stung. Protecting themselves was what Malfoys did, but it wasn't why he'd attacked Rabastan Lestrange. He'd been protecting her. He'd known precisely what he was doing. The defense was useless on that count alone, even beyond the fact that no such clause existed. "Hermione, you're wrong," he said, shaking his head at the quiet huff of irritation she made. "You were reading something else and got that idea muddled in somehow. It's not there."

"It's there. It's buried in a lot of bureaucratic phrasing, but it's there." 

Draco opened his eyes. He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his thighs, and interlaced his fingers to give Hermione a long, steady look. Keeping any irritation out of his voice held all of his focus. He didn't know where she'd come up with this concept of an escape clause in his sentencing, but it was patently ridiculous. The more she talked about it, the more he wanted to shout. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak with care. "Hermione. I have read that agreement from beginning to end. I have read every single word of it more than a hundred times since I signed it. There is nothing, absolutely nothing in it about unconscious magic use, defensive or otherwise. _Any_ magic use is forbidden to me."

Hermione puffed up her cheeks and blew out a sharp breath of air. She stomped to the door without responding to him. She shoved the door open, barking at the burly wizard who stood guard. "My table. The copy of Mr Malfoy's sentencing agreement. Bring it to me." The guard didn't move quickly enough, as far as Draco could tell, because Hermione clapped her hands together, the sound echoing in the antechamber. "Get it! Now!"

A minute later, Hermione slammed the door on the glowering wizard and stalked back to Draco with a scroll case held like a spear in front of her. Draco drew back, watching her nervously. Her eyes were bright and wild, almost frightening in the intensity of her gaze. She sliced the scroll case through the air. "This," she growled at him. "This is your agreement with the Wizengamot. I'll show you." She dropped the case on the bench beside him and flicked it open to haul out the thick scroll. "Here!"

Draco jumped as she shook the scroll out right in front of his face, the end of it snapping just an inch from his nose. She skimmed through it, rolled it to a particular section, and held it up. "Right here, Draco. Look. Read this."

He eyed her, then carefully took the scroll. Shaking his head at Hermione's vehemence, he surrendered to her demand. If she wanted him to read something that didn't exist, he'd pretend to do it just to calm her down. He took a deep breath and started to read the section she'd indicated.

He read no more than three words before snapping his head up to gape at Hermione. She fluttered her hands at him, silently telling him to continue. Heart pounding, he returned his attention to the scroll. When he finished the section, his hands were trembling so much the parchment rattled and rolled in on itself. "This isn't right," he said, voice rough.

"It's right there--"

"No, Granger." Draco looked up. "This isn't right. This isn't...." He ground his teeth and held up the scroll. "This isn't in my copy. I don't have this entire section in the agreement I signed. This escape clause is not in there!"

He rolled through the parchment, scanning the hand-written text for words he didn't recognize or paragraphs that varied from what he remembered. The section on his housing situation had changed, as had the particulars of his employment. Several parts of the agreement were different from the copy he'd been given after his trial.

Draco crumpled the scroll in both hands, crushing the center of it. He stood and flung the heavy parchment across the antechamber. Swearing, he chased after it with the intent to rip it to shreds. Hermione shouted " _Accio_ scroll!" and it zipped out from beneath his hands. Draco whipped around to glare at Hermione and the scroll clutched protectively to her chest.

"It's different," he said, his hands curling into fists. His nails cut into his palms and his gut tightened, acid burning in his stomach. "It's changed. That scroll does not match the copy I have. There's at least a dozen changes. The agreement I have, the agreement I signed fifteen years ago is not the same as that one!"

Hermione held the scroll to her body with one hand and raised the other to ward him off from approaching her. "Draco, slow down. Calm down."

"I'm not going to be calm!" Draco let her cling to the scroll. He looked directly into her eyes, reminding himself that he wasn't angry at her. His anger needed to go elsewhere and he was damned if he didn't suspect where. "That isn't what I signed, Hermione. That isn't the contract I've been abiding by all these years. That agreement is not _nearly_ as restrictive as the one I have."

Hermione's face was pale, her eyes wide as she stared at him. Two spots of color appeared high on her cheeks, brilliant pink against her skin. "Hold on. You're saying that someone deliberately gave you a different agreement? One that eliminated the-the-the lenient bits? Someone purposefully laid more restrictions on you? Draco...." She put her hand on his shoulder, thumb brushing his neck and the racing pulse in his throat. "Draco, who would have done that?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I know exactly who."


	21. 9 April 2013

Draco charged out of the antechamber, blowing past the guard at the door before Hermione could even blink. She chased after him, but not fast enough. Even her daily regimen of running didn't let her catch Draco. In his outrage, he almost flew across the courtroom, running directly at the table where Tuffett waited with a self-satisfied smirk on his wrinkled face. Shouts rose from the scattered members of the Wizengamot who'd remained in their benches during the recess; a roar came from the guard as he headed for Draco.

Tuffett squealed and scrambled back, knocking over his chair as he tried to get away. Hermione raised her wand in mid-stride. She wasn't the only one to take aim. Harry was out of his chair within a heartbeat of Draco crossing the room. They both cast at the same moment. Hermione threw a Shield charm in front of Tuffett; Harry knocked Draco back to sprawl on the floor. The burly guard wizard was on Draco quickly, wrestling him into his chair and casting an Incarcerous to bind him to it.

"You see? You see?" Tuffett scurried up to the central bench and flapped his hands furiously at Madam Duncan. "He's dangerous! He attacked me! Right here, in front of the Wizengamot itself. He's dangerous and he should be locked up. A Death Eater isn't capable of reform and Malfoy's given us the proof!"

A cacophony of shouts and yells filled the courtroom, echoing off the high ceiling and rolling through the air. Above it all, Madam Duncan's voice rose loud. "Silence!" she shouted, her wand aimed at her throat in a Sonorus charm. She had to demand order three times before the room settled, and her face was scarlet red when she canceled the charm to point her wand at Hermione. "Miss Granger, if this is how your client behaves, then perhaps Mr Tuffett's accusations are justified and--"

"Justified!" Hermione stood in the center of the open space, facing the Wizengamot benches, her hands on her hips as she stared up at them. Her mind whirled, various pieces of her research coalescing in her thoughts. "Justified. That's exactly what's happened here. Madam Duncan, my client alleges misconduct and I am entering a defense of passionate provocation."

Madam Duncan blinked, her arm falling to her side. Elder Mercer leaned over the bench to look at Hermione. "Passionate provocation, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, for god's sake," Tuffett interjected. "Don't even try to claim that the Dark Lord made him do it. That excuse grew old years ago."

"Silence, Mr Tuffett, or you will be ejected from this hearing." Madam Duncan took her chair and joined Mercer in looking Hermione over. "Provocation," she said in a musing tone. "That's a rare charge. Are you saying that your client was so sufficiently provoked that he can not be held responsible for his emotional state?"

"Sort of," Hermione said. She glanced over her shoulder at Draco, who was watching her with confusion written cleanly in his eyes. He raised his brows in a silent question and Hermione turned back to the Wizengamot. "Right before he ran out here, only moments before he, er. Well. Attacked," she said with a helpless gesture. It was the only word for what Draco had done and she had to acknowledge that. "Moments before that, Mr Malfoy discovered a discrepancy. There are variations between the original agreement with the Wizengamot and the contract he signed. Mr Malfoy alleges that Mr Tuffett is responsible for these unapproved changes." She mentally crossed her fingers, hoping that she had understood Draco's attempt at assaulting the little wizard. If she'd misjudged, no defense she could mount would be enough to excuse this second violent outburst from him.

"This is preposterous," Tuffett muttered. "Surely you're not going to entertain this notion."

Madam Duncan didn't bother to glance his direction. She kept her eyes on Hermione. "Mr Tuffett, I will not tell you again. One more word from you and you will be removed from these proceedings. Gagged, if necessary." Tuffett sputtered but fell silent. Madam Duncan drummed her fingers on the wide ledge of the bench in front of her as she stared at Hermione. She leaned back to confer in a murmur with Elder Mercer.

Hermione forced herself not to fidget where she stood. She ordered herself to remain outwardly calm even if her heart was pounding under her ribs and she could feel her fingers trembling inside the long sleeves of her robes. She could hear Draco shifting behind her and the muffled whispers of the other Wizengamot members. One very elderly witch snored softly in the far corner of the benches, her hat stuffed beneath her head as a pillow. After a few minutes, Madam Duncan sat up straight. "Elder Mercer and I will allow this. Present your argument, Miss Granger. Be concise."

Hermione took a deep breath, feeling her knees shake with relief. "I informed my client of the clause in his agreement that gave him leniency in the case of unconscious defensive magic used without intent or direction to protect against imminent bodily harm. Mr Malfoy responded that no such clause existed in the agreement he had signed." Any chance of using that defense was gone, from the looks she was getting. She hadn't expected to be able to claim that Draco's actions were unconscious, not in truth. It was worth mentioning, though, to explain Draco's anger. Hermione exhaled sharply before continuing. "After examining the agreement, Mr Malfoy became ... provoked. The contract he signed is not the same as the contract kept in the Ministry archives."

Elder Mercer leaned forward, combing his fingers through his beard along his jaw. "Miss Granger," he said, his face stern, "that is a very serious allegation. Are you claiming that Mr Malfoy signed a falsified agreement?"

Hermione straightened her shoulders and locked her hands together in the small of her back to keep the shake in them from being obvious. "I am," she said, ignoring the quaver in her voice. If Draco was wrong about this.... She didn't want to contemplate the consequences. "I state that my client signed a falsified contract without his knowledge. Upon proof of this, I-I-I--" The formal language left her and she huffed a curl out of her face. "When I show you that the scroll he has doesn't match the one that you have, I demand that his restrictions be lifted entirely and the charges be dropped, because he's been living fifteen years under an agreement that didn't actually exist. He's been arrested for breaking rules that aren't even there!"

The muffled whispers went silent. Every member of the Wizengamot, Elder and Interrogator alike, stared at her. Madam Duncan's mouth had fallen open, making her resemble a hooked fish. She slowly regained her composure, lifting her monocle to her eye to peer at Hermione. "Where is the proof of your claim?"

Tuffett jumped from his table and scurried to the bench. He hopped from foot to foot, looking up at the witches and wizards in their plum-colored robes. His face was twisted and he clung to the front of the bench, clearly obeying his order to remain silent by only the slimmest of margins. Elder Mercer stared down at him, then made a resigned gesture. "Yes, Mr Tuffett? You object?"

"I absolutely do! This is ridiculous. Miss Granger is grasping at straws so she can free her lover. They were probably cooking this up during the recess!"

"Mr Tuffett, do not shout." Elder Mercer's eyes narrowed.

"This is utterly--"

"Your fault." Hermione heard the low voice behind her. 

She turned to glare at Draco, flicking her fingers at him. "Shush," she hissed.

"It's his fault," Draco said, lifting his head to meet her eyes. He looked at the Wizengamot. "It's his fault."

"Don't listen to him! He's unstable! A Death Eater can't be trusted and neither can the woman he's fucking!"

"Mr Tuffett, that is enough!" Madam Duncan roared. She snapped her wand and a sparkling black band fastened over Tuffett's mouth. He collapsed into the chair behind his table, avoiding the Basilisk-like glare from the Wizengamot leader. She rose and stepped down from the benches. A murmur followed her to the floor. She straightened her robes and patted the back of her hair. "Miss Granger. Present your evidence."

Hermione led the witch to her table, where she smoothed out the edges of the crumpled scroll. "Here," she said, pointing to the first section that had angered Draco so intensely. "This entire paragraph is missing from the agreement Mr Malfoy signed."

Madam Duncan examined the parchment. "Where is the allegedly altered contract?"

Hermione held back a squeak. In the confusion, she hadn't thought about Draco's copy. Without it for comparison, the claim was worthless. The last time she'd seen Draco's scroll was at the cottage in Faith-In-Hart. "I--" she started.

"I have it," Harry said from the rear of the courtroom. He strode up the aisle with a scroll case in his hand, stopping at the low balustrade. "All of Mr Malfoy's personal effects were confiscated after his arrest, including this. Sent one of the Aurors to retrieve it from lockup as soon as Hermione brought it up."

Hermione gave Harry a grateful smile for his quick thinking. Harry nodded at her and turned the case over to Madam Duncan. She gestured over her shoulder for Mercer to join them at the table.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, watching Tuffett as he sat at his table. He had a look on his face that she couldn't identify with the sparkling band covering his mouth, but it made a chill run down her spine regardless. He was watching Draco with hatred gleaming in his eyes. 

Madam Duncan and Elder Mercer each unrolled a scroll on the table, lining them up to match the text. Even from the opposite side of the table, with the lettering upside down, Hermione could see the two were not the same. The handwriting alone was different. It was a close match, but not exact, and Hermione felt a stir in her heart. Someone _had_ rewritten the contract before delivering it to Draco for signing.

Madam Duncan made a face of disgust. She and Elder Mercer tapped their wands at the top of their respective parchments with a simultaneous flourish. The scrolls began to move on their own, each line flashing green. One line flashed red and a deep, rumbling voice echoed through the courtroom. "Discrepancy."

As the scrolls moved, the deep voice spoke again and again, announcing discrepancies that flashed red on the parchments. Hermione lost track of how many times the spell identified a problem, but each red flash and booming call made Tuffett shrink further into his chair.

The bottom of the parchment Harry had brought held Draco's full signature, with a sigil drawn indicating that he had read and signed the contract in full knowledge of its contents. The other held a scribbled mess of a signature, and Mercer tapped it with one finger. "Effie," he said, glancing at Madam Duncan.

They both turned to look at the sleeping witch. Without speaking, Madam Duncan went up to wake the elderly woman and escort her to the floor. The witch grumbled and mumbled as she leaned heavily on a pair of walking sticks carved in the shape of lion's paws. When she reached the table, she pulled a pair of square spectacles out of the pocket of her robes and perched them on her short nose. Her eyes were magnified a dozen times as she stared at the parchment. "Euphegenia Aldreda Whitmore, Wizengmot Elder," she said in a reedy, petulant voice. "Yes? My signature, that's it. What of it?"

"Did you take this agreement to Mr Malfoy fifteen years ago to have him sign it?" Elder Mercer asked. Hermione lifted a brow, wondering if the old woman was even capable of remembering that morning, much less fifteen years past. 

As if she'd heard Hermione's thoughts, the witch lifted her head and sniffed. "No," she said. "Had the gout. Handed it off to my clerk to have him take it over. Didn't see any problem with that. Wasn't young and spry, was I?"

Madam Duncan glanced over her shoulder at Draco, then up at the rest of the Wizengamot. She exhaled deliberately as she turned back to the witch. "Who took possession of this document?"

Elder Whitmore turned and pointed at Tuffett, hunched behind his table with his head bowed. "He did."

* * *

A private lounge, located well away from the courtroom behind a hidden and protected door, was set aside for the exclusive use of the top-ranked Elders of the Wizengamot. After the uproar during the hearing, when Elder Whitmore had identified Tuffett as her former secretary, the courtroom had been emptied on Madam Duncan's orders. Draco and Elder Mercer retreated to the lounge where a huge fire burned in the oversize hearth and an Auror waited on guard outside the door. Draco had immediately taken a chair by the fireplace and extended his hands to warm them. He could see the shake in his fingers and he flexed them, curling and straightening in slow, repetitive motions.

Elder Mercer set a steaming cup of tea on a small table beside him and settled into a nearby chair with a groan. "Tuffett," he said without preamble, cradling his own tea cup in both hands. "There was a surprise. Didn't know he disliked you so much."

Draco shook his head. "He's never been polite. Not even civil, really, but I had no idea he'd gone so far. Can't imagine why he hated me enough to do that, unless it's my history. Plenty of people are against me for being a Death Eater, full stop. Most just cross the street when I pass by. No one's made any revenge attempts worth mentioning." In the first few years after the war, he'd been subject to the occasional anonymous jinx, Howler, or shove, but his mother's lie to save Harry Potter and his family turning their backs on the Dark Lord during the final battle had been enough to quell the general anger. Most people were more interested in putting their lives back together than in seeking revenge on a man who'd already been tried and sentenced. 

The reminder of his sentencing agreement made his hands tremble again. Draco locked his fingers together, his grip tight enough to hurt his knuckles. "Didn't expect anyone the Ministry trusted to be a Wizengamot liaison would be so vile, I'll admit. Though if I'd listened to my father's rants, I might have been better prepared for it."

"We'll be taking a closer look at our hiring procedures from now on." Elder Mercer sighed quietly and scratched at his beard. "Bit of a puzzler, I have to say. All of this. Obviously, you shouldn't be charged with breaking restrictions you never should have been following in the first place, but then there's the rest of it."

"Unforgivables," Draco said, staring into the fire. "Murder. It's Azkaban, I know."

"Don't be so sure." Draco glanced at Elder Mercer, brows raised, and the wizard shrugged one shoulder. He leaned back in his chair, adjusting the folds of his plum-colored robes over his knees. "Reading the witness reports and your own testimony doesn't make it one-hundred percent certain that you knew Rabastan Lestrange would die as a result of your actions."

Draco gave a startled, morbidly amused laugh and Elder Mercer pinned him to the chair with a piercing look. "It could be said that you were unaware of what the ... hmmm. What the defensive, ancestral magic of your former home would do. I read in Miss Granger's preliminary statements that you told her many of the spells have been forgotten. You could claim that you had intent to trap Lestrange, not to kill him."

Draco rubbed his hands together, trying to get more warmth into his fingers. Even the blazing fire wasn't much of a help. He'd only spent a couple of days in Azkaban and it already felt as though the cold had soaked into him. "You'd never get the Wizengamot to accept that as a defense," he said as he watched the flames dance.

"The Wizengamot has changed since you were originally sentenced. Elder Whitmore is the only one from that court still serving and she's clearly--" Elder Mercer tapped his fingers on his tea cup, his dark eyes gleaming with hidden humor. "Let's say she's very tired, shall we? We don't ask her to do much these days." He gave Draco a long look, thin brows lifted. "There have been a lot of changes. Attitudes have shifted, memories have faded. No one left on the Wizengamot was directly hurt by anything done during the war, and more than half would be sympathetic to a man like yourself."

Before Draco could respond, the door swung open. Harry entered and went straight to the tea tray to pour a cup and lay claim to a few thin biscuits. Hermione was right behind him. She came to the fireplace and drew up a chair beside Draco. "Tuffett's in custody," she said. "He confessed straightaway." 

Harry slumped into the remaining chair by Elder Mercer. "Hermione has a career ahead of her as an Interrogator, if she wants it," he said, saluting her with one of his biscuits. "Tuffett didn't have a chance. Shouldn't have let her do the questioning, technically, but she just had to give him that 'your homework is late' McGonagall Junior glare and he honked like a daffodil."

"He admitted to altering your agreement," Hermione said, one hand on the arm of Draco's chair. "Elder Whitmore didn't bother to look at the document after Tuffett wrote it up. She never even noticed that he had two different scrolls. He put the original in the archives in case anyone decided to have a look, but gave you the version he invented himself. Since you weren't permitted to sit in while the Wizengamot made its final decisions about the terms, you never knew what they were, and everyone assumed that Elder Whitmore had verified the papers before she signed off." She huffed and shook her hair back, one curl twisted in her fingers to tap against her lips. "Tuffett didn't expect that you'd ever want to make a comparison."

"Were you able to determine his motive?" Elder Mercer asked.

Harry snorted. "Jealousy."

"Don't tell me he wanted to be a Death Eater," Draco said. "There weren't any perks to the job."

"No," Hermione said. She fluffed out her robes, adjusting the cameo pin at her throat. "Nothing to do with your politics. It was your money, your house, your ancestry. Everything you had that he didn't."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's not as though he's the only person who didn't have that. Plenty of those around."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. Harry finished off his biscuits and leaned forward, dusting crumbs off his fingers. "Does it make more sense when you know that the first male of his family's line was an unacknowledged bastard son?"

Draco shrugged and shook his head. "Plenty of those around, too."

Hermione met Draco's eyes. "The first woman in Tuffett's family line was a Muggle named Joan. In the late fourteenth century, she met a young man who swept her off her feet. They fell in love; they promised to marry. By the next year, she was pregnant. After she told him, she never heard from him again. According to letters she left behind, the man who fathered her child was Livius Malfoy."

Draco gaped at her. He blinked slowly, running the family's ancestry and records through his head. Mentally, he scanned the Malfoy tapestries, lost to the Fiendfyre Rabastan had used to burn down the Manor. "Livius was a second son. He never had children."

"He never had legitimate children. Never had pureblooded children. He had a half-blood son he never saw. That son was never acknowledged, never allowed to be part of the family, but he inherited his father's magical abilities and started a new bloodline. For over five hundred years, the family has been handing down the story of how they were cheated out of their lineage and birthrights. Tuffett wanted to take everything from you because he believed your family took everything from him."

Harry took a long sip of his tea and swung his feet closer to the fire. "He was content to fuck you over with the agreement until, er. Until you started seeing Hermione. Apparently the similarity to what happened with Joan back then - Muggle woman and Malfoy wizard - pushed him over the edge."

Draco leaned back in his chair. He looked into the fireplace, his mind in a whirl. A few things made more sense now. How Tuffett had been following him, tracking him with Hermione. An obsession with the past and an ancient wrong had been what drove Tuffett to increase his efforts. Draco suspected that Tuffett had been falsifying reports and altering papers more than anyone could guess. His license to Apparate, denied every time, was likely the man's work, and that was bound to be the smallest of it. Everything about his case for the past fifteen years would need to be re-examined.

A log popped and split in the middle to slide to the bottom of the fire, a puff of ash floating up to disappear into the chimney. Hermione cleared her throat. "There's more," she said quietly. She exchanged another glance with Harry, then sat up straight and addressed Elder Mercer. "Alvin Tuffett confessed to having been in contact with Rabastan Lestrange. They worked together on several tasks, including the supposed 'ghost' that sent my client to the Muggle village of Faith-In-Hart. Tuffett admitted to participation in a dozen criminal incidents over the past five years. The Auror Office has open, unsolved case reports on all of them."

Elder Mercer's dark skin had gone ashen, a tracery of pocked scars appearing on his forehead and across the sweep of both cheeks. He swore under his breath, his fingers clamping hard on the arms of his chair. "Five years?" he whispered. "He's been working with a fugitive Death Eater for five years while being in one of the most sensitive positions in the Ministry. The man's been entrusted with almost every duty Elder Whitmore was supposed to be handling."

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's a mess. We're going to be untangling it all for years." He gave a long, considering look to Draco before nodding as if he'd come to a decision. He turned to face Elder Mercer, his expression solemn. He swept his fingers through his hair, almost incidentally disarranging the black strands of his fringe to expose his scar. Elder Mercer couldn't seem to look away from the lightning bolt mark as Harry spoke. "The Auror Office is grateful to Draco Malfoy for his help in identifying the perpetrator in those incidents and in aiding the department in efforts to close these cases. His assistance was invaluable."

"Fuck, Potter, you sound like a press release," Draco muttered.

Harry looked at him, brows raised over the rims of his round glasses. "That's because it's very close to what I'm going to put into a press release. The capture of a dangerous criminal and a traitor to the Ministry? The _Daily Prophet_ will eat that up, Malfoy. You'll have the public on your side in no time."

Draco scrubbed both hands over his face and rose to stand by the fire. He leaned on the mantle, staring into the flames. From the corner of his eye he could see Hermione watching him, her lower lip caught in her teeth. He saw her fingers twitch like she wanted to reach for him but she twisted her hands together in her lap instead. "What about my charges?" he asked. "I murdered a man."

The door creaked open. Draco tensed, his shoulders stiffening as he turned around. Madam Duncan entered the lounge. Her face was pinched, with her lips pressed tightly together and her brows drawn into a sharp furrow as she stared at a parchment in her hands. "Carl," she said without looking up. "Time for a meeting of the old bats club."

At the combined gasp-laugh of Draco, Hermione, and Harry, she looked up. She paled, eyes widening, then she swore softly and tossed up her hands. "What's it matter? The senior Wizengamot members all feel like fools anyway; might as well admit to it in front of you three. You were there." She crossed her arms and glared in Draco's direction.

Draco didn't think she was glaring at him specifically, but more at the universe in general. Still, her expression made his heart race. He raised his brows and met her gaze. "Well?" he said, hiding a sting of fear behind a slow drawl and a lift of his chin. "Are we continuing the hearing or going straight to trial?"

Madam Duncan growled. She held up the parchment she'd brought in and read from it. Every word that left her mouth was steady but reluctant, and every word made Draco's heart pound harder. "Dated fifteen March, the year two thousand. By order of the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Death Eater and fugitive known as Rabastan Lestrange is hereby declared Undesirable Number One. Any wizard or witch who neutralizes the threat of this individual, by any means, will be immune from prosecution."

She tossed the parchment onto the tea tray. Draco's jaw had dropped and he couldn't make a single sound. Hermione clutched his hand, staring at Madam Duncan, and made a squeaking noise. "That means...."

Madam Duncan sighed. "The decree was never rescinded. You ended the threat of Rabastan Lestrange, by any means. All legal proceedings against you are officially finished. The charges are dropped." She polished her monocle on her sleeve and set it over her eye. "You're free, Mr Malfoy. Get out of here."


	22. 9 April 2013

Hermione stood at the door of one of the practice rooms in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a stone chamber empty of anything except a couple of targets in one corner of the room. She covered her mouth with one hand to hide the quiver of her lips as her emotions danced between laughter and tears. Draco, in the center of the room, had a light in his pale eyes that made them gleam like polished silver. Harry faced him with a long wooden case in both arms.

"I'm supposed to say some formal words here," Harry said. "But it's a load of rubbish, really. Pointless babble. Why make you wait for a speech?" He popped the four latches on the engraved case and opened the lid. Draco's eyes brightened even more.

Hermione couldn't hold back the tiny squeak when Draco reached into the case. He lifted his wand out, balanced on both palms. He didn't take his eyes from it for a moment, not even when Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome back to the wizarding world," Harry said.

He left Draco standing alone and staring at his wand, and approached Hermione. "I'm, er. You should close the door," Harry said quietly. "Just in case there's anything the two of you want to do in private." Hermione's skin flared hot and red at the sly tone of Harry's voice. He laughed, giving her an innocent look. "I meant sparring," he said with a poorly-hidden grin. "Practice. Man's probably a bit rusty."

Hermione pushed him out the door. Before she closed it, she returned his innocent expression with an impish grin. "Actually. Having tested recently, I can guarantee you that Draco has not lost his touch." She shut the door on Harry's mock-affronted gasp, then turned to watch Draco.

He hadn't moved, only lifted his wand and created a series of flashing multi-colored lights to circle around him. Hermione cleared her throat and Draco turned to face her. Her heart pounded wildly at the look of pure joy on his face. He laughed, a gleeful, unfettered sound that made the sparkling lights flicker in concert. Draco bowed and flourished his wand. " _Orchideous_!"

He presented her with a single rose on a long, thornless stem, the petals a translucent white on the outside and a deep crimson on the reverse. Touching the petals to her cheek, Draco smiled. "For my legal representative," he said. "In thanks for her valiant service."

"Gryffindors," she said with a soft laugh. "Defending what's right. It's what we do."

She caught the briefest flicker in his eyes, a small flash of disappointment as she took the rose from him. He turned away, conjuring opalescent bubbles that burst with chimes like tiny bells. "I was hoping that wasn't your only reason," he said. "Gryffindor morality. Saving the downtrodden. Was that all there was to it?"

Hermione took a deep breath of the rose's light scent, the soft petals brushing her lips. "It wasn't."

One of the bubbles gave an ungainly lurch, bursting with a discordant noise. Draco looked over his shoulder. Hermione met his eyes steadily. "Your rules and restrictions were wrong. I defended you because I thought what you did to defend Jilly and Geoffrey and me.... You did the right thing. You broke an unjust punishment for the greater good. That was worth defending but it wasn't the only reason I stood up for you."

She stepped inside the circle of sparkling lights. They reflected in Draco's eyes with flashes of purple, green, blue, and more. Hermione dragged the tip of the rose along his cheekbone and down his jaw. "I defended you because I do still love you. It's exactly the same reason you protected me in that tower."

Draco pushed his wand into his pocket and caught Hermione's wrist. He turned his head, touching his lips to her fingers where they curled around the stem of the rose before whispering a charm to make it disappear in a blur of pale pink smoke. "And where do we go from there?" He slid one finger over the ribbon of the cameo pin at her throat. "I turned you down when you came to visit me on the island because we were in the wrong circumstances, but not because I didn't want you. I said, if things were different, I'd be happy to start up with you again. Things are different now. I'm a free man, completely unencumbered. I think I even earned myself a medal. Are you still willing to give me another chance?"

Hermione bit her lip and cupped Draco's cheek. "Where do we go from here?" she echoed. She traced out the shape of Draco's face, following the plane of his cheeks and the sharp edge of his jaw, ghosting her thumb beneath his bottom lip and drawing her fingers around the shell of his ear. 

Draco closed his eyes and shivered. He drew her hand up to breathe along her forearm. Returning the familiar, intimate touch, he pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot just beneath her wrist where her veins showed blue through her skin. Hermione sucked in a breath, her eyelashes fluttering. "God," she muttered. "If you do that again, I know exactly where we'll go." Straight to bed, if not the floor of the practice room.

She tugged weakly, knowing she should pull away from him but not really wanting to do so. The night they'd spent in each other's arms in Faith-In-Hart, even if it had been meant for comfort more than anything else, had rekindled her feelings for Draco. Now there was nothing to stand between them - not the Ministry, not his restrictions. Nothing except their history. That was something she needed to think about, but it wasn't something she needed to think about right then. Draco's lips were moving over her hand, around her knuckles and to the pads of her fingers. He drew the tip of one into his mouth and sucked gently on it, his tongue sliding over her nail as he watched her face.

Hermione trembled at the heated, molten look in Draco's eyes. Thought was for later; actions were for now. Decision made, she dragged his head down for a fiery kiss, lips crushing together and tongues exploring mouths. Draco nipped at her lip, scraping his teeth across it.

He broke away, dropping his head to her shoulder. He kissed the side of her neck with a soft growl that ran through her body and settled low in her abdomen. Hermione pressed her thighs together and her body responded with a throb that made her groan. Draco answered her with the same, his breath hot on her throat. He wrapped both arms around her waist and hauled her full against him. She could feel him pressing to her belly, hard and solid and hot even through their combined layers of clothing. She threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged to force him to lift his head.

"Not here," she said. She looked into his eyes and her knees quivered at the desperate, needy passion she saw there. She licked her lips; Draco's eyes followed the motion hungrily. "Not here," she repeated. "Home. Bed."

Draco nodded. He straightened up without letting go of her waist. The movement drove his hips against her. They both fought back a groan. Without another word, Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the practice room to find the nearest Floo.

* * *

Grimmauld Place was dark when Hermione and Draco spun through the Floo. Hermione let out the breath she'd been holding. Harry was still at the Ministry. No one was home and she wouldn't have to explain. Not that she would need to, she thought. Harry's teasing in the practice room told her well enough that he'd understand.

She kept a tight hold on Draco's hand to pull him up the stairs to her bedroom. The late afternoon sun streamed through her windows between the half-closed shutters, giving her enough light to tug Draco to the bed. An urgency was burning in her and getting undressed would take far too long. Hermione yanked her wand out of her robes. A quick snap and flourish had her and Draco stripped naked with moments, their clothes piled on a chair in the corner.

"Hermione," Draco said. "You--"

She put her finger over his mouth to silence him, then pulled her hair behind her shoulders. She pushed Draco to the edge of the bed, gave him a slow smile, and dragged her hands down his chest as she sank to her knees. Draco let out a long, rolling groan and settled onto the bed to spread his legs for her.

Hermione didn't hesitate. Draco's cock was hard, swaying against his stomach, the tip dark and already slick. She leaned forward and nipped gently at the insides of his thighs before wrapping her fingers around his shaft. She rubbed the head on her lips and opened her mouth to slide him in.

The sound Draco made was barely human. His hands locked on the edge of the bed, knuckles turning white. He grunted softly each time Hermione drew up the length of his cock. Hermione outlined the shape of the tip with her tongue: a slow circle around the ridge, a quick flutter against the frenulum, a delicate probe into the tiny slit. Draco swore and pounded one hand on the mattress beside his thigh. "Her-Her. 'ne. Stop. Gotta stop. Too close." The usual low drawl of his voice had become a guttural rumbling, like the roll of thunder from a distant storm.

Hermione released him and scrambled onto the bed as he pushed himself back. She put both hands on his shoulders, coaxing him down, and straddled his hips. Draco balanced on his elbows to watch her, hunger and want heavy in his face. Hermione cradled her breasts, offering them to him, rubbing her thumbs around her nipples and the brown circles surrounding them. Draco's face darkened and his cock pulsed beneath her. Hermione rocked her hips to make him groan.

Draco locked his hands on her thighs, swearing softly. "Witch," he muttered. He slumped into the pillows and tugged at her. "Don't tease, Hermione. I can't take it."

She laughed and lifted up to reach for his cock. With a flick of her thumb across the head, she guided him into her. She was hot and open, wet enough that he slid in easily. Draco's fingers tightened, digging into her flesh. Hermione leaned forward with one hand on the bed beside him and the other pushed between them. Using two fingers, she stretched to feel his length where it disappeared inside her.

She didn't want to make Draco wait; she couldn't force herself to move slow. She needed this, wanted him with a desperate ache. Her cunt pulsed with her pounding heartbeat and gripped tight around Draco each time she slid down onto him. Closing her eyes, she dipped her head and let her fingers move between her folds, over and around her clit.

Draco's lust-roughened voice reached her over the echo of her heart racing in her ears. He murmured to her, urging her on, encouraging her to move faster and fly harder. He whispered and crooned to her, begged her to let herself go. His low voice filled her soul as much as his cock filled her body. Hermione arched her back and answered his demands, finding her release with a shriek. She could hear Draco swearing but the sound of it barely touched her. She was drowning in sensation, her world narrowed to the heat rushing through her blood and the ecstasy twisting along her nerves.

She collapsed slowly, falling over Draco as she struggled to catch her breath. He gave a soft grunt and smoothed his hands up her back. "I never get tired of seeing that," he said quietly. He brushed her hair out of his face and let his hands settle on her ribs. Hermione closed her eyes, panting, and tried to move. Draco shushed her. "Rest," he murmured, nuzzling through her curls to kiss the top of her head. "Take a minute."

"Mmm." Hermione laid her head on his shoulder and listened to the rapid thump of his heart. She let herself drift in the aftermath of the intense spasm, muscles twitching as the last of it worked through her. The sensitive muscles in her cunt throbbed every so often, squeezing around Draco's cock. He was softening slowly, but she knew it wouldn't take much to regain his body's flagging attention. She knew all of his intimate secrets, how to arouse him and flame his desires.

Just to tease, she wriggled her hips and ground down on him. At his muffled groan, she hid a laugh. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and smiled at him. "I'm not the only one who's going to need a rest," she said, her voice low and logy. She pursed her lips in a kiss, dragging one nail down his chest to circle the pale, flat disc of his nipple. Draco shuddered beneath her as the tiny nub stiffened. Hermione twisted to swipe her tongue across it before kissing up his chest to his throat. She found his pulse and sucked on it, her teeth brushing his skin. 

Draco tipped his head back to let her have the freedom to explore. "As I learned earlier today," he mumbled, "I'm a free man. Do what you will with me, Hermione. I have all night."

Laughing, she sat up to let him slide out of her. She rolled to settle at his side, one leg thrown over both of his. "Convenient," she said. "So do I."


	23. 10 April 2013

Draco stumbled downstairs not long after dawn. He found the kitchen after a couple of mistakes that led him to a cupboard full of cleaning supplies and an unused, dusty parlor. "Coffee," he muttered to himself as he staggered to the counter and started opening cabinets. "Coffee. And para-- Para. Tamol. Thing."

"You are stunningly incoherent in the mornings, Malfoy."

Draco spun around, clapping one hand to his back with a hiss when there was a protest from one of the welts Hermione had left down his spine. Grateful he'd thought to put on clothes before going in hunt of caffeine, he didn't bother to think that they were clearly yesterday's clothes. He pointed at the coffee pot in front of Harry on the table. "That," he mumbled. He found a cup that would serve well enough and dropped into a chair, holding the cup out by the handle.

Harry snorted and poured a dark, bitter-smelling brew for him. "So we're going to wait until you've regained humanity before we talk about the fact that you spent the night?" 

Draco grunted assent, all his focus on the cup he clutched in both hands. Harry fetched a couple of small, white paracetamol tablets for him and they drank in silence until each had finished a full cup. Draco slumped in the chair and tipped his head over the back, letting the hot coffee do its work.

Harry cleared his throat. "When you do that, I can see five - no. Make that six lovebites on your neck."

"Don't care." Draco closed his eyes, waiting for the paracetamol to take effect. "Granger's a biter."

"Things I did not need to know," Harry said. "And on that topic, other things I did not need to know? How vocal you can be. What exactly were you shouting? Sounded like Russian."

Draco sat up and poured more coffee, concentrating on that to avoid Harry's eyes. He couldn't stop the blush from spreading over his skin. Not for the first time, he cursed his ancestors for the pale skin that showed even the slightest hint of embarrassment. "Doesn't translate," he mumbled into the cup.

"Tell me it means 'thank you, Harry, for realizing that was the sound of Hermione having loads of fun and not being under attack, because that realization kept you from breaking down the door and seeing something that may have permanently blinded you'."

"I'm not _that_ pale."

"Afraid you are," Hermione said as she breezed into the kitchen. She rummaged through the cabinets and delivered a tray of toast and jam to the table, moving the jar of apricot marmalade to the side of her empty plate. "What were we talking about? As if I couldn't guess, with Malfoy at the table."

Harry stretched both arms overhead and rolled his neck. "Silencing charms," he said. "And the distinct lack of them."

Hermione froze with her marmalade-coated spoon in mid-air, then ducked her head and attended to her toast. "You heard," she said in a tiny voice. "Oh, god."

"For at least an hour," Harry confirmed. "Until I remembered a temporary Deafening spell. Helped some."

Hermione's face was Gryffindor red. Draco wasn't convinced that he was doing much better. He stole a thick slice of toast from the tray and bit into it before he could say something that would further embarrass the both of them. 

Harry snickered. He slouched in his chair and noisily slurped his coffee. "I won't be home until late tonight," he said to Hermione. "Lot of work to do. MLE's in a bit of an uproar and the Minister's on my tail to get things handled. Was at the office until almost midnight last night and I'll probably be there as long today. The entire Ministry is going to be doing some re-organizing in the coming weeks." He glanced at Draco, lifting his brows. "Elder Whitmore resigned from the Wizengamot," he added. "As did several others, Madam Duncan among them. Carl Mercer is being promoted to Chief Warlock."

"He seemed a decent enough sort," Draco said. "Think he'll be an effective leader?"

"We'll see. He has some interesting ideas." Harry spoke in a neutral tone, but his lips were curled up in a slight smile.

Draco exchanged a look with Hermione. He suspected that Harry, as the head of the Auror Office, wasn't supposed to admit to any opinion, one way or the other, of the leaders of Ministry departments. Not publicly, at least. That smile spoke to approval, though.

Harry grabbed a piece of toast and buttered it slowly. "So what are you going to do next?" He blinked at Draco, his green eyes amused behind his round glasses. "Other than Hermione."

"Harry!" Hermione dropped her toast onto her plate and buried her face in her hands.

Draco's blush had receded, but it came back with force. He coughed sheepishly and spoke with as much aplomb as he could muster. "Find a new place to live, first off. I wasn't actually required to live in a Muggle area. That was one of Tuffett's alterations. I'll be getting out of that hellhole as fast as I can. Most likely, I'll let a flat in Diagon to start, until I can find a permanent place."

Hermione looked at him. "Are you going to stay employed at the Ministry?"

There seemed to be more to her question than curiosity but her face was calm, almost blank. Draco watched her eyes, looking for any twitch, as he answered. "No. I'm handing in my resignation today. I hate it there. I always have."

Hermione's lashes flickered, barely more than a blink, but she dropped her eyes to her plate and didn't look away from it. "I see."

Draco sipped his coffee and watched her, contemplating her reaction. "It's not the people I work with," he said, the words tossed out mostly as an experiment. When Hermione's lips parted and she let out a soft breath, Draco nodded to himself. He thought her first, hinted-at response had angled that direction; her small breath of relief confirmed it.

He put his coffee down and leaned forward to look at her. Even with her head bowed, he was sure she was watching him from under her lashes. "I like the people well enough," he said. "Some more than others. Some, I like _very_ well."

He started to reach for her hand, but Harry made a strangled noise. Drawing back, Draco eyed him. Harry shook his head and made a dismissive gesture. "Nothing," he said. "It's nothing. Just images that make me want to see an Obliviator."

Draco rolled his eyes. The impulse to touch Hermione, to reassure her that he did still want to see her every day, even at work, had passed and he cleared his throat, putting his thoughts in order. "As I was saying. I like the people. I don't even mind working, despite what some might think. It's the department. Magical Creatures was never my choice. If I stay at the Ministry, I'll ask for a transfer. You said there was a lot of re-organizing to be done."

Harry nodded, brows furrowed. Hermione sucked in a breath and snapped her head up to stare at Draco. He let her see a slow smile forming on his lips before he turned to Harry. "Tuffett's old job is available, right?"

* * *

"Malfoy's gone off to the Ministry," Harry said. He put both hands on the frame of the bathroom door and stretched, loosening his shoulders. "Man was practically dancing. Surprised he had the energy for it, frankly, with the two of you last night."

Hermione, staring into the mirror as she flossed, ordered herself not to blush yet again. She rolled up the used floss and tossed it into the bin, then leaned close to the mirror to check her gums. The daughter of two Muggle dentists, she never fully trusted magical pastes and potions. She flicked her tongue over the front of her teeth and nodded, satisfied. "I think he'd be great at Tuffett's job," she said, turning to face Harry. "If he needs a recommendation--"

"I have plenty." Harry crossed his arms and slouched against the counter by the sink. "Honestly, Hermione. Malfoy's done great work over the past several years. I have an entire file stuffed full of letters and notes from people thanking him for handling their gnome infestations or whatever. If he wants a new job, he won't have any trouble finding one at the Ministry. Hell, after the trouble with his case and the shit he's had to go through the past few years? The Wizengamot would likely create a new job for him as long as he promised not to go to the papers and expose Tuffett's corruption. Looks bad for them."

He ruffled his fringe and gave her a wary look. "I, er. I hope you understand that I was only enforcing what I thought were the real restrictions for Malfoy. I wouldn't have been so strict if I'd known that--"

"It's all right, Harry. You were doing your job. It's not your fault that Elder Whitmore was practically senile and let Tuffett take over for her. And it's not your fault that Tuffett hated Draco so much. It's fine. I'm not angry with you for it. Though Draco's the one who should hear your apologies, you know."

"Talked to him when you came up here to wash up," Harry said. "He's irritated, but we're all right. Same thing from him - it was my job."

Hermione nodded. Stepping over Harry's outstretched legs, she left the bathroom. Harry followed her into her room and she kicked a pair of knickers under the bed before he could notice them. 

"I saw that," Harry said. 

Hermione made a face at him and he snickered. "So what about you?" he asked. He sprawled into a chair under the window and toyed with a hair clip he'd removed from the seat. "What are you going to do now?"

Hermione pulled open a bureau drawer, pretending to examine the clothes inside so she didn't have to look at Harry. "I don't know," she said. "One night doesn't really--"

"God, not about Malfoy," Harry said with a long groan. "I've heard far too much about him for the morning. Heard too much last night. I meant _work_. Planning to stay in Magical Creatures?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Hermione asked, determined to ignore Harry's comments about her night.

"Dunno." Harry tossed the hair clip onto a table and tucked his hands behind his head. "Because all the research you were doing for Malfoy's case made you happier than I've seen you in ages? And not because it was for _him_. At least, not entirely. There was some of that there, I'm sure, but that wasn't all of it. You were doing what was really fun for you. Digging into the books and all that. MLE could use a skilled researcher like you, someone who wouldn't overlook even the smallest detail."

Hermione settled into the chair beside Harry, tucking her feet up beneath her. She traced the knob of her ankle bone as she stared into space. "I've thought about it," she said slowly. "It would be a good move for me. I can't go much further in my department, not until someone higher up leaves, and no one's even close to retiring. But...." She shook her head. "But I don't think MLE is really the place for me. I think I'm going to see if I can transfer, though I have no idea which department would be most likely for what I want. International Cooperation, maybe."

Harry raised his brows. "What brought this on?"

"So many things," Hermione said with a sigh. "Fifteen years after the war, and there is still not a single department in the Ministry that deals with the interactions between Muggles and wizards, except the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office and the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee. Neither of those are the least bit interested in education and communication. Muggleborns and half-bloods raised in Muggle households have such a tremendously difficult time integrating into magical society, and it doesn't help that too many wizards and witches still know so little about Muggles. If I hear one more person talk about Muggles like they're pets who learned a few cute tricks, I'm going to snap."

"Isn't that what got you put on suspension? Snapping?"

"It was a sabbatical," Hermione said, drawing her brows together. She exhaled sharply and dragged her fingers through her hair. "But yes. And don't you see? That's the point. There's no understanding between the two groups. If I can do something about those attitudes, teach people a few things? Even the smallest action can have amazing results down the line. Look at Draco."

Harry rolled his eyes and Hermione reached over to smack his arm affectionately. "I'm serious. You should have seen him in Faith-In-Hart. He wasn't just civil to the Muggles there. He was downright friendly, especially for someone raised the way he was. If a Malfoy can learn, anyone can. We only need someone willing to take on the job, and I'd be willing. I'd be perfect for it."

Harry chuckled. "Sounds like you've put a lot of thought into it already. Bet I'll get a memo about the formation of a new department within the week." He stood and stretched. Scratching his belly, he shrugged. "Do what you have to do, Hermione. I'll support you, whatever it is. Even if it involves Malfoy," he said with a long-suffering look. "And speaking of him."

He examined her as he stepped out of her room, his eyes serious. "I think you could be really happy with him. Give him another chance, Hermione. You both deserve it."


	24. 11 April 2013

The assistant holding court at the huge paper- and file-laden desk looked up with a harried expression when Draco stepped through the outer door of the Head Auror's office. "Mr Malfoy," he said. "You're right on time. Go on in."

Draco raised his brows and gave the desk a wide berth. He didn't want to knock one of the stacks of paper, even by accident. Harry's assistant might burst into flames if one file was shifted out of place.

He knocked on Harry's door perfunctorily before going in. "You need to give that fellow a holiday," Draco said. "He may actually explode." He went to the window to check out the view. Instead of the London Eye, the window showed the shops at Covent Garden, where a swirling, shifting knot of people surrounded a group of musicians. There was no sound, but the violinists were clearly enthusiastic, their bows nearly blurring over the strings.

Harry groaned and lifted his head from his desk. He had a paperclip stuck to his temple and the letters "CN" had transferred to his cheek above a patchy line of stubble. "The entire department is taking a holiday once everything's settled down. Crime will have to wait for a weekend. I'm thinking of finding an active volcano, something calm."

Draco slouched into one of the chairs opposite Harry, deliberately stretching his legs out to bump against the bottom of the desk. "I heard you had to take on extra help to deal with all the Tuffett issues."

"Yeah." Harry slumped and rubbed both hands over his face. He flicked the paperclip onto the desk with a grimace. "Bastard had his fingers in just about everything. Guess he needed a fallback in case pushing you far enough to send you to prison didn't work out. We're going to be cleaning up after him for months. Don't suppose you were serious about taking over his job? It's a pay rise."

Draco shook his head. "Going to take some time off. Drop a lot of money in Knockturn Alley. Cast spells just for the hell of it. That sort of thing."

"Basically do everything you've been forbidden to do since the war?" Harry thumped his feet up on his desk. "Don't blame you. So long as you stay out of trouble, I think you've earned the right to blow off some steam." He kicked a file out from under his heel. It knocked over a stack of papers, which shoved a tea cup off the desk to thud onto the carpet.

Draco leaned over to peer at the cup. Nothing spilled out, but he could see a green rime on the inner surface of the ceramic. "I hope that was an experiment," he said in a bland voice.

Harry flicked two fingers at the ceiling. He gave a long, rattling sigh and groped on his desk for a file. Holding it over his head, he grunted, then held the file to face Draco. "Your final report as an employee of the Ministry of Magic, Magical Creatures blah blah bollocks. I'm too tired to care and much too tired to read the thing. Tell me what it says."

"Boring, mostly. The usual."

Harry tipped his head to stare at Draco. "There are many words that can be used to describe the case in Faith-In-Hart. Boring? Not the right one. I'd have gone with dragonshitting clusterfuck, myself."

"I left my thesaurus at home." This time the two-fingered gesture was directed straight at him. Draco grinned. "You weren't this rude a couple of weeks ago, Potter."

"You're no longer under the watchful eye of the Auror Office. I can call you a wanker without having to write myself up for harassment." Harry flung his arm over his face, hiding his eyes in the crook of his elbow. "Just tell me what's in the report so I can kick you out and go back to my nap, Malfoy."

Draco laughed and leaned back in the chair. He kicked his feet up onto the desk as well, knocking a denuded quill onto the floor by the fallen cup. "All right, all right. Barring all the other, er. Troubles," he said with a dismissive flick of his fingers. He hoped the flippant understatement kept the shiver in his body out of his voice. The battle with Rabastan, and the stay in Azkaban, short as it was, would stay with him for a long time. Treating it lightly was the only way he could avoid letting it consume him.

He took a deep breath and focused his thoughts. "The actual case, the ghost of Faith-In-Hart. Doesn't exist. It was Tuffett and Lestrange all along. Lestrange told Tuffett about Charity Burbage's death and they cooked up the scheme together. Various charms, spells, so on. It's all in the report. Took a lot of work but in the end it was convincing enough to get a team assigned. A word in the right ear, a hint to the right person, and there you go, Malfoy's handed the case. Tuffett even arranged Laura Madley's accident, hoping I'd go alone. Throwing Hermione into the mix...."

Draco stole the discarded paperclip off the desk and unfolded it, working the bends of the thin metal in a straight line. "He had to call Lestrange back to London for a chat on those plans. Tuffett didn't want her hurt. He wanted me killed because--well. You heard all of that." He pulled the tip of the paperclip along his thigh, letting the rough point catch on and drag at the material of his trousers. He closed his eyes and forced away the image of Hermione in Rabastan's arms, blood on her skin and her eyes wild and frightened. "The, er. The ghost," he said slowly. "Like I said, it wasn't real. I thought about cracking all the charms they'd used to set it up but in the end I decided to let it go. The magic will fade in a few decades and they'll assume she moved on. Leave them with a nice local legend, though."

Harry shifted his arm and looked at Draco from beneath it, one green eye peering at him. "Why?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Malfoy."

Draco heard a touch of iron in Harry's voice, the determination that had got him this far, the resolve that had kept him alive during the war. Draco sighed, clenching the ruined paperclip in his fingers. "Because they like it," he said. "The Muggles there. They like having their ghost. It's something they can point to as theirs. 'Look at our ghost, check out our history. Let us tell you about our legends.' It's something they can be proud of." His fingers tightened around the paperclip, the metal digging into his palm.

Harry sat up slowly, watching Draco's face. Draco tried to keep his expression blank, but he'd heard his own voice. The tension, the bitter tinge to his words. Something to be proud of, something all theirs. Something he didn't have. He closed his eyes to avoid Harry's stare. "They deserved something for everything they went through," he said, forcing a levity into his tone. They both knew it was false, but he felt it was worth the effort. "A little gift for the off-season. Keep the tourists coming by."

"Right. If that's your reason." Harry exhaled audibly and shuffled papers. "We'll have to assign someone to keep an eye on those spells," he said after a moment. "One more thing on the list. Thanks ever so much, Malfoy."

Draco got up and went to the window. He watched the shoppers with their swinging bags, their smiles and open laughter. A pair of children chased another boy up a flight of stairs; a tall man in a black suit dropped a handful of coins in the violin case by the musicians. "You're welcome," he said dryly. "Anything I can do to help the Ministry. It's done so much for me, after all."

"Actually...." Harry cleared his throat and rustled more papers. When Draco turned around, curious over the unfinished sentence, Harry had risen from the desk. He held a small case, red velvet and hinged on one side. The wary, almost sheepish expression in his eyes made Draco's shoulders stiffen.

Harry crossed to stand by Draco at the window. "Hermione told me what you said about getting a medal," he started.

Draco held up both hands, warding away the velvet case. "I was joking," he said. "I don't want a medal for Lestrange. Fuck you for even considering it."

"It's not for Lestrange." Harry ignored Draco's words with nothing more than a blink. "It's not for anything to do with that assignment. It's not even for you." He leaned one shoulder on the wall by the window and opened the case. He drew out a narrow silver medal on a green ribbon and held it on his palm. "This belongs to Narcissa Malfoy."

Draco's breath caught. It lodged in his throat, choking any sound. He stared at Harry, unable to move or think.

The medal shimmered on Harry's palm. "Order of Merlin. First class. For her lie to Voldemort." His voice softened. "She refused to accept it after the war. She said she'd been protecting her family and-and. And that your life, your future, was worth more to her than anything else. That the only reward she wanted was to see you happy."

He put the medal back into the case and set it on the window sill by Draco. He took a deep breath, rubbing his forehead where the lightning scar rested over his brow. "The Malfoys made a lot of mistakes, but you came through in the end. As far as I'm concerned, the slate is clean. You _do_ have something to be proud of, Draco. When it mattered, she did what was right. And so did you. I think that's a good legacy for your family."

He clapped Draco on the shoulder and went back to his desk to shuffle through his papers. "Do something with your life, Malfoy. You're the last one of your line, yeah? Make a new legacy. I know at least one person who'd be more than happy to help you with that, if you asked her."

Draco raised a brow and opened his mouth, then shut it when he couldn't put together a response. He picked up the velvet case, slipped it into his pocket, and strode out, his mind in a whirl.

* * *

Draco stood in his flat, staring at the open velvet case on the table beside him. In the pale light from his window, the silver medal seemed to glimmer. If it weren't for that case, that medal, he would find it impossible to believe. Order of Merlin, First Class. That a Malfoy, any Malfoy, could earn such recognition was almost beyond his ability to comprehend it. His mother had lied to the Dark Lord, lied directly to those red, snake-like eyes. Narcissa Malfoy's lie had saved Harry's life and that lie had saved the wizarding world from destruction. She'd lied to save her family, out of her love for her husband and son.

He drew the tip of his finger around the edges of the medal. Something to be proud of, he thought. A new family legacy, a new path for the Malfoy line. Narcissa had defied the Dark Lord to protect the people she loved. Belief in the superiority of blood and magic had fueled the lineage, Black and Malfoy alike, for centuries, and in the end, it hadn't mattered. Nothing had been as important as family.

Nothing was more important than love. Love had driven his mother to take a deadly risk at the end of the war; love had driven him to take his own risk at the end of his hope.

Draco closed the case, dropped onto the bed, and slowly curled over to stare at the floor between his feet. He rested his elbows on his thighs and locked his hands together over the back of his neck. He'd taken a risk and days later he was still shaking. He'd taken a risk and it might have paid off. Possibly. Potentially. Maybe.

He still loved her.

She still loved him.

Things had changed and they had a chance and--

And--

And he was lost and confused but he was free. Free of restrictions, of expectations. He had an opportunity to make something different of his life. He had an opportunity to make a new legacy for his family and for himself.

He had the chance to make a future, a life, that he could be proud of.

It was a risk. It was a _chance_. It was his entire future, if he was able to grasp it.

Draco sat up, shoving both hands through his hair. He stared at the velvet case on the table. The Malfoys had a long history of doing anything for power, money, and survival. Narcissa had thrown all of that away, for love. She had done the right thing, for the right reasons. Now, Draco knew, it was his turn.

* * *

Draco had been to the Ministry, handed in his resignation, and left again by the time Hermione got to the office. She talked Doreen into giving her Draco's address and went to find him in Muggle London. The building where he lived was clean but aging, with the main door standing open to the street. Hermione walked in and found herself in a shabby corridor. On the wall, a clipboard with a sign-in sheet full of messy signatures hung next to a list of house rules. Hermione checked the sheet for Draco's name and found it at the bottom.

A flight of stairs was just past an open doorway that led into a common area. A half-dozen men lounged on battered sofas and listing chairs, watching a football match. One man threw an empty beer tin at the screen when the goaltender blocked a kick. "Fucking Gooners," he grumbled.

Hermione knocked on the door. "Excuse me," she said. 

None of the men paid any attention. The man crumpled up a cigarette packet and flung it at the screen as well, swearing more intensely. "Shut up, Ben," another man said.

"Fuck off." At Hermione's second knock, Ben turned to look at her. His eyes widened and he scanned her up and down. "Fucking hell," he said, whistling. "You're a fucking fit one, ain't you?"

Hermione blinked. "I'm, er. I'm looking for Draco Malfoy."

"Fucking ponce," Ben said, immediately turning his attention back to the telly.

A young man sitting at a rickety table, his hair dyed neon orange and cut into a tall mohawk, glanced up from the paper. "Malfoy? Skinny blond bloke, right? Second floor, third on the right. If he's still here. Heard he's moving today."

Hermione bit her up and looked at the ceiling as it creaked over her. "He found a new place already?"

The man brushed his palm over the spikes of his mohawk and shrugged. "No idea. Just know he's leaving."

He returned his attention to his paper; Ben roared at the telly again. Shaking her head, Hermione made her way upstairs. That room had a hint of despair about it, as if all the men inside were slowly giving up on life. She thought it was no surprise that Draco had never let her see where he lived. She wouldn't want anyone to witness this either.

At the top of the stairs, she counted down the hall and knocked on Draco's door. "Draco?" she called. "Draco, are you there?"

A door at the far end of the hall opened and Draco stepped out, drying his hands on a stained, ragged flannel. "Hermione," he said with wary surprise. He tossed the flannel into a basket outside the door before taking a key on a plastic ring from his pocket. "Glad to get out of here," he said over his shoulder as he unlocked his door. "There's orange dye all over the place in there."

He stepped into a narrow room and moved a cardboard box from the only chair to the low bed. "What are you doing here?" he asked, gesturing her in.

Hermione perched on the edge of the chair, hiding a wince as it creaked dangerously. "I wanted to talk to you and you'd already left the Ministry. Packing up?"

He hummed and nodded. "Fortunately, I don't have much to pack. Mostly just clothes and I'll probably drop the majority of that off at Oxfam."

"Where are you going to live?"

Draco dumped a stack of white Oxford shirts into the box. "Going to stay at a hotel until I find a flat."

"You could stay at Grimmauld Place." The words escaped before she realized she was going to say them. Hands fluttering, she tried to cover for them. "I mean, I mean. There's plenty of space, we have a dozen spare rooms, and the house used to belong to the Blacks so it's like it's half yours anyway and--" She put her head in her hands and groaned. The babbling had made no sense even to her.

She heard a rusty squeak of springs and peeked through her fingers to see Draco sitting at the foot of the bed. His expression was slightly quizzical, as if he hadn't quite understood her. "Granger," he said slowly. "Don't tell me that you're asking me to move in with you."

"No! I wasn't--"

"Because we weren't ready for that even when we were dating and now? I don't know what we are."

"Draco, that's not--"

"Don't get me wrong, I'd love to get back together with you. But I thought we'd go through it all from the beginning again."

"Draco!" Hermione clapped her hands sharply to get his attention and stop him talking. He blinked and lifted his head. Both hands curled around the edge of the thin mattress, he raised his brows and looked at her. Hermione rubbed her eyes. "I didn't mean for us to move in together. I meant like-like-like. Flatmates. Housemates. Sleeping in separate rooms, arguing over who let the milk spoil, complaining about whose turn it is to take the bins out. That sort of thing."

Draco pushed across the bed to lean on the wall. Folding his hands over his stomach, he shook his head. "Generous offer and I thank you for it, but no. I need to live on my own for a while. I've spent fifteen years living in various Muggle places. This is the fifth one," he said, gesturing around the room. "Always with rules about what I can have in my room, what time I have to be in. I want to live somewhere I don't have to think about anyone but me. No rules, no regulations that I didn't set myself. Can you understand that?"

Hermione looked around the room, at the bare walls and cracked plaster, at the brown water stain on the ceiling and the worn spots in the carpet. This was a place to stay, not a place to live. Draco had been following someone else's rules and orders for nearly twenty years, since he'd been branded by Voldemort and given his suicidal task. Even the sentence that kept him out of Azkaban had been full of someone else's restrictions. Draco deserved the chance to live on his own terms. "Yes," she said, nodding. "I understand."

"There's another reason." Draco ruffled his fringe and let out a slow, hesitant breath. "We've both acknowledged that we still love each other, but every time I've brought up the possibility of starting up again, trying our relationship over, the subject gets changed or something happens. I couldn't begin to consider sharing a house with you, even if Potter was there as a buffer between us, until.... Unless--" He thumped his head against the wall and closed his eyes. "I'm willing to take the risk, Hermione. On you. On _us_. Whatever we are. If you're willing to try with me."

Hermione watched him for a few moments, then got up. She clambered onto the bed to kneel astride Draco's legs. "I don't know what we are," she said when he opened his eyes with a gasp. "I don't know what we could be. I keep avoiding giving you an answer because this isn't something I can do research on or make lists about. This is a situation where I can't find an answer. It frightens me not to know. I might be the brave Gryffindor, Draco, but still. I'm merely human and when it comes to the heart, humans are frail."

She cupped his cheeks and looked into his eyes. "I do love you. That answer is a definite yes. Beyond that.... I don't know." She took a deep breath and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I want to start things again. What sort of things? I don't know. Will it work out this time? I don't know. But I'm willing to find out."

Draco settled his hands on her waist. His eyes darkened as he looked at her. "That's all I'm asking, Hermione. I want to find out, with you. We were amazing before, even if we couldn't see past our own worries to find it. Now that things are different, that things are so much better, I think we could be amazing again. We just have to try."

Hermione kissed him again and nestled in, her lips brushing the side of his neck. "We can try, Draco. I want to try, one more time. With you."


	25. Epilogue (April 2014)

Draco parked the Phantom outside the little garden cottage in the Muggle village of Faith-In-Hart. "Granger," he said, shaking his keys by her ear, "wake up. We're here."

Hermione stretched and smacked her lips together, then sat up with a start, her head bumping the roof of the car. "Ow," she mumbled, rubbing her scalp. She yawned and looked out the window. She gasped. Whipping around to grab Draco's arm, she bounced in her seat. "The garden! The cottage! You let it again? How long are we staying?"

"As long as you like." Draco pried her hand off his arm and dropped the keys in her palm. "Took a little negotiating with the hotel owners, but I was finally able to come to an agreement. It's mine, now."

Hermione gaped at him. She looked down at the keys in her hand, then back up, her mouth working soundlessly. A tiny squeak escaped her before she found words. "You-you. You. You _own_ it?"

Draco smiled and got out of the car. After circling around the front, he opened Hermione's door and helped her out. "It's not for me," he said, slipping his arm around her waist. "It's for you. For us."

Hermione didn't speak as he led her through the gate and up to the door. Draco took her hand and guided it to the lock, helping her to get the keys in. "Go on," he said. He opened the door and put his hand on the small of her back to urge her inside. "It's all yours, Hermione."

"Ours," she whispered. She stepped into the cozy sitting room and patted one of the walls with a bright smile. "It's ours."

She spun to pounce on Draco, arms flung around his neck. "You said you wanted a place in the country and I thought maybe you were going to rebuild the Manor but I never thought you were going to do this! When I mentioned it, I was just dreaming out loud. I loved this cottage when we were here last year and now we can come here whenever we want? Oh, Draco!" She dragged his head down and peppered his face with kisses.

Laughing, Draco hugged her tight, then let her go to explore further. She headed straight for the kitchen to open the cabinets and run her hands over the counters. "Speaking of the Manor," Draco said. "We'll go out there tomorrow. I'm building there, yes, but it's not a new house. I took another of your 'dreaming out loud' suggestions."

Hermione peeked around the door of the kitchen. "Oh? Which one?"

"The day school."

Hermione froze in place, then slowly stepped out of the kitchen to stare at him. Draco leaned against the back of the sofa and smiled at her. "Well, you see, there was this paper presented by the Head of the recently formed Muggle-Magical Cooperation and Education Office. Rather long, but I can say every word was worth it. I should know, I helped edit the thing."

Hermione wrinkled her nose at him and made a grabby gesture. Draco chuckled. "In this paper - brilliantly written, did I say? - the Head Officer explained that many magical children are taught at home or by private tutors prior to entering Hogwarts and that often means these children have little to no experience with or knowledge of Muggles before they're placed in a group environment."

"You don't need to quote my own paper at me," Hermione said. She fingered his fringe away from his eyes and leaned against his chest. "What's this have to do with a day school?"

Draco wrapped his arms around her. "You suggested that a day school for magical children, one with a curriculum grounded in Muggle studies, could help ease some of the common troubles. Get those little witches and wizards used to the differences their Muggle classmates will have, and help them learn some of the similarities. I thought it was an excellent idea. So I'm building one."

"Let me get this right. You're building a day school for Muggle studies in place of Malfoy Manor?" Hermione looked up at him, her brows knotted. "You're really not going to rebuild the house?"

"There was a thousand years of Malfoy history there, but for most of it, it wasn't the best. The attitudes and prejudices? They were all ingrained, as if they were part of the house itself. All things that needed to be unlearned." Draco tucked one of her curls behind her ear and drew his fingers down the column of her throat. "I want the next thousand years to be different. Changed, for the better. And since I'm currently the last Malfoy, I thought I'd best get started."

Hermione's eyes sparkled. "Thank you," she said quietly. She drew his head down for a long kiss. Draco held on to her and slid the tip of his tongue across her lips, seeking entrance. 

Hermione pulled away with a soft giggle at his grunt of disappointment. "Can't indulge too much," she said. Bouncing on her toes, she clasped her hands together. "God, so much to do! We'll have to set up interviews and talk about hiring procedures and I'll have to find someone in the department to put together packets for--"

Draco caught her arm and spun her into an embrace with her back to his chest, halting her babble. He nuzzled into her hair and laughed. "The building isn't even there yet, Hermione. You have plenty of time for all of that. I expect to see notes and books and lists scattered all over the place any day now. But not today."

He walked her through the cottage without releasing her, both of them giggling like toddlers as their legs tangled. He took her straight out to the garden and the iron bench under the tree. He sat; Hermione stood. In the center of the garden, she held her arms out and danced to the birdsong and the gentle breeze. Draco smiled as he watched her. "Thought we'd take a bit to settle in and get unpacked," he said. "Then go into the square. Visit the market, the tea room, all those places we liked last time. Pub's under new management, of course, but everything else is just the same."

He tried to hide his amusement at his own statement, but from the look Hermione gave him, he wasn't doing very well at it. He let his smile grow until he was openly grinning. Hermione put her fists on her hips and gave him a mock glare. "What are you smirking at?"

Draco snorted and held both hands out in an innocent gesture that didn't fool Hermione for a second. She stomped one foot and huffed before stalking up to him, grabbing his collar, and leaning down to kiss the point of his nose. "Talk, Malfoy."

He relented with a laugh. "All right, all right." Sitting up straight, he smiled at her. "There are a few changes. Young Mr Millburne has gone off to school. A sponsor sent him to an automotive training course that specializes in vintage vehicles. In another six months, if he sticks to his studies, he'll be able to set up a shop, just like he wanted. Miss Millburne no longer works at the hotel. She received a fellowship to study with a professional master of medieval music, as well as a steep discount on that large recorder she told us about last year. Both of them are following their dreams."

Hermione settled onto the bench next to him. Draco put his arm around her and she leaned her head on his shoulder. "Anonymous donations from a mysterious benefactor, I take it," she said. "That benefactor wouldn't have been named Draco Malfoy, by any chance?"

Draco ran his fingers through her hair. "I felt I needed to help them out," he said quietly. "I nearly got them both killed. The Ministry Obliviators had to take a lot from them to erase what happened with Rabastan. Their memories were altered back to the day before we arrived in the village. I felt responsible for that and I wanted to make it up to them."

"You weren't." Hermione nestled in against him. She slipped her arm over his stomach and hugged him tight. "You weren't to blame for what Lestrange did, Draco. The only thing you need to take responsibility for? Your own actions. It's the only thing you've ever needed to do and in that situation, it's what you did. You stepped up and you did what needed to be done and I was proud of you for it. I'm still proud that you defended them."

Draco made a soft noise and Hermione shook her head on his shoulder. "No. Don't argue. It was the right thing to do and you did it. Even if you didn't go about it the best way at first, everything worked out in the end. What have I been telling you for the past year?"

He chuckled under his breath and kissed her hair. "That even wizards are merely human."

"Right." Hermione hummed in satisfaction, relaxing against him.

Draco stroked her hair. He looked around the garden, at the mounds of flowers that swayed in the breeze. He closed his eyes to listen to the birds and the whispering of the stream down the hill. There was still a great deal he needed to do, but all of it, everything he had planned, was something he wanted to do. It all involved choices he was _free_ to make.

Hermione whispered a drowsy "I love you" as she laced her fingers in his. Draco held on to her, head tipped against hers. He'd gone through the previous sixteen years simply existing as he was told; now, he was able to live as he pleased. He would build the school, help others learn not to be the idiot he'd been before, and with Hermione at his side he thought he could find his way. With his future ahead of him and his life clear, he could manage to be both a better wizard and a better man.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear silverotter1:  
> I went ... rather off-track with your prompts, I fear. This idea grabbed hold of me and would not let me go. I swear I don't know where all the words came from.


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